Patience Is Not A Virtue
by scriptrixlatinae
Summary: Patience has never been Jareth's strong point, and now he's decided to stop waiting and take any invitation back into his beloved's life that he can. But when—it cannot be if—will Sarah accept the love of her old nemesis, the Goblin King?
1. I will be your slave

Author's Note: This is my first fan fiction, and I would therefore love to receive reviews on it. (Reviews which go beyond "nice story" or "I like it" to give an articulated reason for liking/disliking it are especially welcomed because those tells me _why_ I'm getting that reaction, not merely _what_ the reaction is.) I also have a plethora of ideas for this story, but unfortunately they refuse to appear in chronological order. Jareth is a very..._temperamental_...muse.

Random fact: This entire story began because he kidnapped my brain for several hours one evening (immediately following my second-ever viewing of _Labyrinth_) and refused to release it until I had written this chapter and the next. In any case, I hope you enjoy reading my story as much as I have imagining it into creation.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Labyrinth_ or any other published work which I may quote or reference. This work is purely for the enjoyment of myself and others, not monetary gain.

_PATIENCE IS NOT A VIRTUE_

* * * 1 * * *

_I will be your slave._

Jareth stormed back into his castle and flung himself into his chair. Of _course_ she would prefer that irritating little creep to him! Yes, she would call on the huge, hulking monster with red _fuzz_ and the irritating little "knight" with his moronic pup, and...him.

His useless, disloyal retainer. That wretch who spent all his time shooting fairies outside the Labyrinth—_his_ Labyrinth—and did _nothing_ useful. The only thing he'd done right the entire time had been to give the girl his peach, and even that had backfired! As soon as she saw the clock—_why_ had he placed it so prominently?—she had bolted, and as soon as she'd seen that sickening little dwarf, she'd fawned on him like he'd never betrayed her! She certainly hadn't done that to _him_.

Jareth fumed, watching the girl and her little "friends" party in her bedroom...celebrating her escape from his castle, no doubt.

From him.

The few goblins who had _not_ fled by now went running for cover as his wing-tipped eyebrows drew together in a pronounced scowl.

"Why can she not _see?_" he snarled to himself, thrusting his lean body from the leather-draped throne. "_I _love her! _I _want her! What can that midget offer her that I do not have already—that I do not have in _excess?_ And yet she goes for him!"

The final word was pure venom as he stalked out of his throne room and down the corridor to his suite. It was one of the few places that he never allowed his goblins, and none of them followed him. They would not dare, when he was in this mood.

* * *

He lay back on his bed, the coverlet of dark, rich velvet a brilliant ruby—the same tint as almost-dried blood. A crystal spun on his fingertips, and he was watching it idly.

Sarah again. Always Sarah. He had been sure that her calls to his realm would slack off, yet they didn't...she didn't seem happy in her world, and he wondered how he could help, what he could use as an opening.

He _would_ get her back. Sooner or later...she would realize that he was the only one for her. The _only_ one. And then she would return.

He watched the spinning crystal more closely now, breathing deeply through his nose, mouth slightly opened as he watched his love. Her name slipped between his lips unconsciously, still staring into the glassy depths of his glittering creation.

* * *

He watched her closely through the end of her freshman year, all through sophomore, and into junior, but she never let herself slip. She never said his name, never called on him. Never mentioned him to _that dwarf_ and her other friends, the few times that he permitted her call to go through.

She noticed when it didn't work, and she always looked depressed afterward. He knew he could not hurt her, and slowly stopped.

But him! She was to love _him_, not that—that disgusting little creature! He gnashed his teeth, angry that she seemed to be forgetting him. She had had a doll once, a figurine by her mirror. It had almost been him—not as handsome, of course; plastic couldn't do him justice—but there. And she had gotten rid of it! He had simply looked in on her one day, and the thing was gone.

_That_ had caused another rage. His goblins had not shown their faces for days afterward, though he hardly noticed. He was too busy wondering if he should replace it, give her a better one, perhaps. Perhaps...one of both of them, dancing at the ball.

He smiled at the recollection, but the figurine never made it past his thoughts. She would probably only have gotten rid of it like the other, and that would not be something he could tolerate watching.

He sighed and returned to his viewing, determined to wait for her, for his chance, no matter how long it was in coming. He would not lose her again.

* * *

Sarah glanced around the little shop, half curiously, half dubiously. It was only a tiny hole in the wall, but...that was sometimes where she found the best books, the ones that no one else carried anymore. An over-eager shop boy came over, face lighting up as he saw the female, and Sarah had to hide the expression that threatened to become hopeless and depressed.

She _still_ didn't like talking to strangers.

She brushed him off quickly and hid in the back of the dusty little store, perusing the stacks with half an eye out for the boy again.

Jareth smiled at her obvious discomfort, still watching through his crystals. She hadn't yet found another like him, another to try to take his place. That was good.

Perhaps she never would. Perhaps she would eventually realize that her place was here, by his side. He almost patted the burgundy coverlet in anticipation; he couldn't wait to have her here, in his kingdom...in his bed.

His eyelids lowered slightly, smokily, as he contemplated his prey, lips slightly open in anticipation. It couldn't be much longer now; she was getting more and more restless in her world...

"Frank," Sarah called suddenly, now at the front of the store again. There was a bulletin board with flyers tacked on it, and she was looking at one.

The boy hurried up behind her, panting slightly at the exertion. Jareth sneered at the overweight boy. He couldn't hope to win _his_ Sarah.

"_Frederick_," the boy stressed, before shaking his head suddenly at how pretentious that sounded. "Fred. But you can call me Fred."

Sarah didn't seem to hear him. "Can I have this?" she asked, tugging at one of the posters.

He glanced at the poster. One of the advertisements for a con—a science fiction convention in a city not too far away. Their only one, but no one had seemed interested, and she _was_ pretty...

"Of course. I can even make you a copy, if you'd like," he added helpfully, almost bursting with ineffective eagerness.

"Oh no, that's fine," she answered distantly, tugging the flyer a bit harder so that it came free from the wall. She began folding it in half when he interrupted her again, anxious to keep her there a little longer.

"Is there anything else I can help you with? Anything at all?"

Sarah had almost forgotten, but—

"Yes. Will you ring these up for me?" She handed him a small pile of books, dusty treasures she'd found hidden on the farthest shelves.

The boy took them almost eagerly, scurrying to the counter with the register. "Would you like a member card?" he asked hopefully. "You can get newsletters, and flyers, and discounts..." He petered off when he realized that she wasn't listening.

The ancient register _tinged!_ when he finished the sale, and she handed him her money, not paying attention as he made the change.

"Thank you, Frank," she said distantly, clutching the coins in her hand as she slid the bag off the counter and disappeared through the door.

He sighed and slumped against the counter. He still didn't know her name.

* * *

Jareth gloated at the idiot boy's disappointment, his complete failure to make his precious Sarah even _look_ at him. She'd been too distracted, first by those books—he made a note to look through them later; they might help him—and then by that poster. But what poster could interest her? Books he understood; books were familiar territory for him. She had always read books. But posters...

He looked back in on the shop, glancing at the board through his crystal. Just...silly little announcements. Costume plays, reenactments, parties for hopeless, pathetic nerds and their hopeless, pathetic games...what of this would interest her?

He switched back to his true quarry quickly, unwilling to miss an instant of her life, mundane though it now seemed. She was returning to her house, the bag from the bookstore lying in the seat of the car beside her. He was restless to know of its contents, but he would wait. He _could_ wait.

* * *

"I'm home!" she called out as she burst through the door, bag swinging from one hand.

"Oh, there you are!" her stepmother cried from the other room. Sarah scowled and tried not to roll her eyes as she came into the room. "Have you given any more thought to your dress?"

Sarah froze suddenly, suspiciously. "What dress?" she asked slowly.

"The one for your junior prom, of course!" came the unwelcome answer.

Sarah scowled more noticeably now and flung herself at the stairs. "I'm not going!" she snarled at her stepmother, the woman who kept trying to force herself into her life, unwelcome. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"

The older woman's eyes blazed. "And how many times do I have to tell _you_ that you need to get out more?" she snapped back. "You lock yourself up in your room with your toys and your dolls and your silly books... You don't know how to live anymore; you're just trying to dream yourself away into a fantasy land!"

Jareth's and Sarah's thoughts suddenly matched, angrily full of vitriol at the narrow-sighted woman. _It worked once!_

Sarah contained her anger from lashing out verbally until she was in her room, but couldn't resist slamming the door loudly against the faux-maternal intruder.

Jareth pushed himself up, watching his sweet Sarah in agony, in rage against her stepmother. _Perhaps now...perhaps, at last, she will call on me to take her away..._ he thought hopefully.

But she only slung her bag onto her bed and then threw herself after it, burying her face in her arms in frustration. The muffled shriek of suppressed rage wouldn't escape her room, he knew, but he still wanted to stand beside her, to steal her away from that wretch of a woman.

She finally rolled over on her bed, reaching up into the bag to pull out the mysterious flyer and look at it, finally giving him his chance for examination. It was...

...a con? What did that mean? He filed away the information for future investigations, once his precious was asleep, but she did the research for him.

She sighed and pushed herself off the bed and sank into the chair in front of her computer. She had finally convinced her father that she needed her own for "schoolwork," but she rarely used it for that. She pulled up a browser and began typing in the information, scrolling through the listings until she found the one she wanted.

"The same weekend...of course. Shit! She'd never let me go," Sarah huffed dejectedly, hitting Alt+F4 to close the window.

Jareth watched with empty eyes, mind racing. She wanted this, this con? Some sort of meeting...he thought it might be of other fantasy people, like her. But her stepmother wouldn't let her go; the foolish woman somehow thought that prom and a boyfriend were more important.

_Boyfriend_. Prom. Dancing. And fantasy, where he would fit in. His two-toned eyes glittered as he smiled devilishly.

This might be exactly the opportunity that he had been waiting for...

* * *

It was only a week later, but her petition to her father hadn't helped. If anything, it had only hurt her case.

"_Your mother is right, dear. You should be going to your junior prom, not to some strange...gathering...in another city. It would take hours to drive there and back anyway! And this is your _prom._ Surely you don't want to miss it...it's such an important part of high school..."_

"_But I don't _care_ about prom!" she'd wailed. "And she isn't my mother anyway! This is what I want to do—and it's only two and a half hours, Dad. I can make it, easily. Why can't I go?"_

"_You waste too much time on your fantasy life as it is, Sarah. You need friends, real people around you."_

"_Who do you think goes to these things?" she snapped. "Fantasy goblins and—" She had been about to say "kings," but stopped herself. "It's only for one night, and I might meet someone there. At least people there would have the same interests as me. You know there's no one else here who can understand me. They're all too busy being jocks and airheads; fighting for superficial power."_

_Her father had sighed. "No. I'm standing by her in this. You need a boyfriend. You need friends. You need to fit in _here._"_

And that had been the end of that conversation. Jareth gloated at her almost-slip, but then busied himself in his preparations. He was almost ready for his grand re-entry, and she...she was almost desperate enough to agree.

* * *

Sarah snarled at the plastic-sheeted dress that her mother had forced her to buy. It hung on her closet door, a product of the sales at Christmas, and she hated it. It was pink, and too frilly. She didn't like frills, or pink; she didn't like the modern style. She wanted something older, classic...something in cream and gold, perhaps, like that night...

She snarled and buried her face in her pillow, determined to ignore the dress _and _the memory, but the latter was harder to shake. She could suddenly remember that night with perfect clarity—the way she had looked in the elegant, styled ball gown, the music floating on the air around him..._him_, in his dark blue coat with the blue highlights in his hair...

Music suddenly floated in _her_ room too, and she glanced up, confused. An old music box had begun to play, the dark-haired figure spinning in its golden dress.

But it wasn't alone.

Suddenly a small figure of a man twirled with the little figurine, who looked much more like her than it ever had, and that song—it was the song he had sung that night, the night that she had almost believed, almost forgotten. The male figurine was—

"Hello, Sarah."


	2. No love injection

Author's Note: Please enjoy responsibly...not getting drool on Jareth would also be appreciated.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Labyrinth_ or any other published work which I may quote or reference. This work is purely for the enjoyment of myself and others, not monetary gain.

_PATIENCE IS NOT A VIRTUE_

* * * 2 * * *

_No love injection..._

Goblins went scurrying in all directions. Their king was _whistling_. _And_ smiling. This was bad, bad news for whoever got in his way...

Jareth twirled his short whip in one gloved hand, grinning to himself. Sarah was exactly perfect, he decided. Yearning for one thing, which her parents wouldn't give her, while trying to escape something else that they were pushing on her from another side.

And to think, that her odious mortal stepmother had given him the entire plan, fully made. He would have to thank her sometime. Perhaps by waving her exile in the bog. That would be enough, he thought.

Now he simply had to carry it through.

* * *

"Hello, Sarah."

His voice was soft and gentle, caressing, as he sat lounging on her windowsill. His legs were stretched out in front of him, his black boots gleaming in the dim light of her room.

She sat up and whirled around, staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. Why was she frightened?

"I didn't call you," she snapped. "I don't want you here. Go away! You aren't supposed to come unless you're called."

Jareth smiled and rolled his shoulders slightly, emphasizing the spotless, snow-white poet's shirt that displayed his sleek chest. "There is more than one way to call me, Sarah," he replied gently, seductively. "And I assure you, I _was_ called."

Sarah hissed, pushing herself backward onto her bed until her back hit the headboard, a pillow clutched to her chest. "_No._ Who would call you? No one believes. No one but me, and I _didn't _call." She knew that much, was certain of it. No matter what else she did, she wouldn't call him.

Jareth smiled slightly and stood, striding gracefully to her bed and sitting on the edge of it, letting his eyes flicker down her body, mentally appreciating what she had chosen to wear that night...for him.

"I assure you, Sarah, I _was_ called. By you, in fact." His voice was liquid silk, sliding over her bare skin, and she shivered.

"You're lying!" she accused suddenly, leaning slightly away from him with a bare trace of her curled lip—in disgust, he was sure. "I would never call you!" She hadn't missed the lecherous look that he had given her, and she suddenly regretted pulling off her over-shirt to reveal the thin camisole and inadequate shorts that were all that was left between his eyes and her body.

Jareth smiled, pouring more charm into his voice, more smoky heat into his glowing eyes. "You may not have meant to, my dear Sarah," he purred silkily, "but it doesn't always take a _verbalized_ summons to bring me. A mere wish is sometimes enough." He reached out to take her hand and lift it to his lips, smiling sardonically over her wrist.

Sarah's lip curled and she tried pulling her hand back, but he held it fast. Jareth's eyes glowed at her feeble attempt, almost ignoring her next words in favor of the hand he still held.

"And how would _you _know what I wish?" she pried angrily.

"Temper..." he purred sweetly into her still-captive hand. He flipped it over suddenly, ignoring the more traditional knuckles to press his lips to her palm, a more intimate gesture. His eyes had fallen from hers to contemplate the pale skin that he had revealed.

When he spread his lips to press the tip of his tongue to her delicate skin, followed by a short nip, she suddenly jerked her hand back instinctively.

"Get out of here!" she hissed. "Or I'll—"

"Yes, what _will _you do?" he goaded her, lying back to lounge more comfortably on her bed. "How will you explain when your father finds a strange man in your bed?"

Sarah flushed, then tried not to. She knew what he was trying to do to her, she just...couldn't stop him. Her mouth opened for more empty threats, more venomous curses, but he beat her to it.

"Wouldn't you like to know why I'm here?" he asked. "After all, it isn't often that I haunt mortal women's bedrooms..."

Sarah snarled again, but answered. "Fine. Will you leave once you've told me?" she snapped.

Jareth smiled. "Perhaps." But he didn't let her explode on his statement as he knew she was waiting to. Instead he simply propped himself up on his elbows, shaking his hair out regally, taunting her with his beauty.

With what she could have had, if she had chosen differently.

"I know of a way that you can get out of that," he teased her, nodding his head at the pink confection hanging on her door. "And a way that you can go to _that_ instead." He flicked his chin to the pale blue flyer, now carefully tacked onto the wall behind her computer.

Sarah followed his movements suspiciously. "You're lying. There's no way; I've already tried."

"Oh, but I can do so many more things than you think," he purred, and suddenly she wasn't sure what he referred to. Her eyes dropped from his unwillingly, trying to escape his spell, and settled on the firm bulge beneath his waist, barely covered by the skintight gray breeches he wore.

She flushed and looked away. She was _certain_ that she hadn't gasped.

Jareth smiled to himself. If only he had known that it would be _this_ easy, he would have tried harder long ago. He pushed himself up and reversed his position, reclining on the bed beside her, beside his beautiful prize.

"They want a man in your life," he purred sweetly into her ear as she looked determinedly away. His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her hips toward him, closer to laying beside him. She finally released the pillow that had masked her body to steady herself with her hands, startled, and he took the chance to flick the distraction out of her grasp. "Someone strong and caring..."

She whipped her head back around at his blatant lies, then gasped again at how close he was, almost hovering over her. "Get away from me, you creep!" she hissed again.

Jareth smiled, continuing to pull her down to lay beside him on her bed, ignoring her attempts to push him away. He settled above her, one arm on each side of her body trapping her beneath him, mentally appreciating the way her auburn hair pooled on the pillow beneath her head, creating a worthy frame for her delicate ivory face. "As long as you _leave_ for their silly prom with a man, how will they ever know if you never _arrive_ with him?"

Sarah glared at him, her hands on his shoulders still trying to push him away. "Are you suggesting that I get a date just so you can kill him?" she snarled, hating the sight of him, hating the position he had put her in.

"Of course not, my dear," he purred. "That would be entirely pointless, and far too much work for me. No... I was..._insinuating_..." He seemed to like the word, the connotations that she couldn't ignore with him hanging over her. "...that you go with me. I am more than capable of taking you to this 'con' of yours. Your simple-minded parents would never have to know," he purred.

Sarah froze, her mouth hanging open, empty of the curses that had so lately filled it. She tried to think through what he was saying, analyze it, understand what it was that he was hiding from her.

Jareth chuckled lightly at her dumbfounded expression. "You would be safe," he promised. "I wouldn't return you to my castle, or my realm...unless you asked, of course."

Her eyes flashed, remembering another instance of _asking_.

He beat her to it. The years that he had spent watching her had given him far better insight into her expressions than she knew. "Verbally, this time," he assured her lightly. "You would have nothing to fear; no one will dare touch you while you are with me, and I will return you here at the end of the evening, perfectly intact."

"How perf—" she objected, but stopped herself before she could reveal too much.

Jareth smiled to himself. He had long suspected, but to have it confirmed? That _was_ precious. "Even that," he assured her again, though he let his hips rest on hers, letting her feel what she was missing.

_Yes...that you will keep until you beg me to take it,_ he thought to himself smugly. _And you _will_ beg, Sarah Williams. You will beg so beseechingly before I'm through...but you will not join my bed until I wring a certain vow from your luscious cherry lips._

Sarah snarled and tried to knee his crotch, but he stopped her effortlessly before she managed to lift her knee from the bed. "How can I trust you?" she snapped.

He smiled. "I give you my word as the Goblin King," he replied silkily, reminding her of who he was. Who she was lying beneath, unable to escape.

He wondered distantly if she realized that he knew _exactly_ how desperately her heart was pounding, why she suddenly felt so hot.

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't trust that" came through clenched teeth.

He smiled, leaning down a little closer, amused at her efforts to push her head back into the pillow to escape him. "You can trust me, or not," he purred. "But if you want to go to your convention, you will have to go with me." He smiled as she turned her head resolutely away from him, to the closet door from which her dress hung. "And you can escape your stepmother's prom," he purred in her ear. "I know how trying dancing is for you."

The music box tinkled out their song again.

Sarah's head whipped around, ignoring the fact that his face was barely an inch from hers. "You know nothing." Her words were like ice, but Jareth ignored them.

"Give it some thought," he insisted. He pressed his lips gently to hers, just enough to leave her an impression of his warmth, his taste as his tongue flicked out to her lips momentarily.

Then he lunged back, depositing one of his clear crystals between her breasts. Sarah didn't miss that doing so let him _touch_ her breasts, though the contact was only glancing.

"And call me when you decide."


	3. And he had given her certain powers

Author's Note: Yes, I was talking about a science fiction/fantasy convention (a con) in the last two chapters. Good work, notwritten, and you also get a free question. (By the way, have you ever considered that _impatience_ could also be a virtue? Just a thought.)

Disclaimer: I do not own _Labyrinth_ or any other published work which I may quote or reference. This work is purely for the enjoyment of myself and others, not monetary gain.

_PATIENCE IS NOT A VIRTUE_

* * * 3 * * *

_And he had given her certain powers._

And then he disappeared, before she could yell at him. She threw the crystal at the window anyway, but it didn't break _or_ sail through the open—the window was now closed. She frowned.

"Damn it, did you _have_ to come back now?" she snarled to herself.

Jareth smiled to himself. "Yes," he whispered, now safely back on his bed and in an _excellent_ mood. "Yes I did."

She glared at the small crystal, lying innocently on her floorboards, and slowly walked over to pick it up, a grimace on her otherwise lovely face.

"I hate you, Jareth," she growled in a low tone. "I _despise_ you. I don't even know words strong enough to express my complete loathing of you." She flung the window open and threw the crystal out it as hard as she could, watching with grim, angry satisfaction as its tiny glitter flew through the night.

Jareth smiled, knowing her small act of defiance would eventually prove useless. After all, love and hate were only two sides of the same coin...and flipping a coin was _so_ easy.

_Particularly when you have practice_, he mused to himself, twirling the crystal she had just tried to disown in his fingers.

* * *

Sarah woke the next morning, determined to think that she had imagined the entire episode. She didn't open her eyes yet, but lay in bed, mentally convincing herself that somehow her imagination, or her dreams, or _something_ had run away with her, and she had imagined the whole thing. Jareth had never been there; Jareth had never offered to take her to the con.

She refused to even _think_ about accepting his offer. It boasted far too many risks. And she didn't really want to see him again anyway. She was sure of it.

She opened her eyes at last, staring up at the canopy of her bed for a moment before levering herself up and glancing at her bedside table.

Jareth's crystal ball sat calmly in the middle of it, on a small stand that made it look almost like a snow globe. The music box with the dancing pair began playing softly in the background.

She snarled. Jareth would be _dead_ when she got her hands on him next.

Jareth almost capered when he saw her expression. It was everything he had hoped and more. He hoped, secretly, that she would take a few more tries to discover that no matter _how_ she tried to get rid of the crystal, it would always return to her. The same, of course, went for the music box, though he was just as pleased that she hadn't tried to destroy it yet. Perhaps she still valued that memory...even if she wouldn't admit it to herself.

He went to his duties with a new spring in his step, even as Sarah kicked the crystal ball out of her sight and went to prepare for school. It was a bright new day, and he _was_ glad to be alive.

* * *

He waited until lunch to check in on her again, knowing that she would have few chances for interactions with her peers until then, since she took pains to keep herself secluded. But lunchtime...

Ah, lunchtime. He had learned this slowly, but now he could feel it ingrained in his bones. Lunch was the time and place where reputations could be made or lost, and minor catfights—in the guise of witty remarks and a well-timed expression—often broke out. He had watched more than a few with interest.

Sarah usually sat at a small table in a dark corner, but today it was taken. It was cold outside, and just drizzly enough to keep everyone indoors—which left a pretty problem for his fair heroine. There would barely be enough seats, and with her usual niche taken, she would have to go _somewhere_.

Sarah knew this intrinsically, but watched carefully for a solution as she passed slowly through the lunch line. Jocks and preps, elite intellectuals, stoners, partygoers... She had no clique of her own, so today she would have to pretend.

She chose a seat at the end of the table of the town royalty, one of the few places that remained unfilled. A pair of empty seats separated them, but she could already feel the sneering looks directed at her, warning her to leave their property.

She ignored them.

She was halfway through her lunch when she suddenly heard a disturbance further up the table, though she refused to look up to see what it was.

"Susan!" one of the girls called—she thought she recognized it as the voice of Melissa, the reigning queen. "Oh Susan, do look up!"

_This school is not that large,_ Sarah thought to herself in irritation. _It is not that hard to learn one name._

But she continued picking at the school's poor attempt at meatloaf. It looked more like cow shit to her, but it was, at least, still classified as food. She did not look up.

"Susan! Oh, Josh, get her. I have a question." The male in question (a jock, of course) looked up and grinned at his monarch, now fluttering her hand at him. "Sure."

Sarah felt a "gentle" push on her arm that almost knocked her sideways. "Hey, you. Susan. Melissa wants to talk to you," the lumbering hulk said.

Sarah kept a smooth expression on her face, but Jareth saw through it. He knew that she was seething inside, as was he. While _she_ only had options of diplomacy through a harsh tongue lashing available to her, _he_ was fighting off the urge to drop her entire table into the Bog of Eternal Stench.

Headfirst.

"That. Is not. My name." She said the words slowly, articulating each syllable precisely in order to prevent any misunderstanding from the more intellectually challenged at the table.

Melissa sighed gustily and waved her hand again. "Oh well. It doesn't matter."

The expression on Sarah's face, though it lasted only for a split second, suggested that it _did_ matter, and Jareth grinned suddenly, waiting for the fireworks.

"Mother said that you were going to the prom," Melissa began, eyes sparkling with cruelty as she gazed upon her prey. She sent a sly look to the other almost-women clustered around her, and slight smiles broke out among the group. "She said that you even had a dress already."

Sarah took a breath, cursing, once again, the fact that her stepmother and Melissa's mother went to the same aerobics class. It invariably meant irritating confrontations like this one, usually over the same old, worn-out high school trivia.

Like school dances.

"That was my stepmother's idea, not mine," she answered coolly. "I have never intended to go, and still do not intend to do so."

One of Melissa's friends rolled her eyes and mouthed something to the blond prima donna. Sarah didn't catch it, but Jareth did, and almost broke the crystal sitting in his fist, snarling suddenly in rage.

_Worthless slut. Leave her be._

Melissa shot the girl a glare, leaving her momentarily chastened, and tried to continue with her fun. "Oh, but you _must_—" she began.

"I _must_ do nothing," Sarah interrupted. "Though I _choose_ to go to class now. Good-bye." The separation became final as she rose, disposed of her tray, and left the room.

Jareth's grin returned, and he promised himself that he would think up something _particularly_ unpleasant for that shrew and her covey of harpies.

He wondered for a moment whether he should let her in on the planning, but then decided to give her a few days before he intruded on her again.

Physically, at least.

* * *

Sarah slammed the front door when she arrived home from school and stormed up the stairs. Toby, in his playpen in the living room, began to cry, but she ignored him as well as her stepmother, who tried to intercept her for slamming the door _and_ "upsetting the baby."

Three years old wasn't a baby anymore. It was a menace, even though she generally liked her half brother.

She slammed her bedroom door too and ignored her stepmother until she finally went away. Then, at last, she moved away from the door and dropped her bag onto her bed, glancing disinterestedly up the bed.

Where Jareth's crystal laid on her pillow. The same one that her head had rested on when he had attacked her and forced her to lay beneath him. She was sure that that particular placement was intentional.

And she was right. Jareth beamed at her glower, relayed faithfully through his own crystal. He'd always known that women caught onto the subtle messages like that.

Sarah went to the window and flung it open, intending to send the crystal sailing through it a second time, though she paused with her hand on the casement. The image of his crystal—she would _not_ call it hers—appearing by her side that morning interrupted her thoughts, and she snarled silently at the conclusion.

Jareth would just keep returning it. Of course he would, the arrogant prick.

She tried to block out the memory of his warm, masculine body hanging so closely above hers the previous night, but failed. The man might be an asshole, but she couldn't deny that he was attractive.

Physically, at least. And only in the depths of her mind, where no one but her would be privy to the admission.

Jareth smiled wolfishly at her blush, her sudden stillness. "Thinking of me, are you? Don't worry, my sweet—I'll come back to claim you soon enough."

Sarah stuffed the crystal into an old shoebox in the back of her closet, determined to forget it. As long as it was in her room, hopefully _he_ would ignore it. It wasn't like he could spy on her _all _the time.

* * *

"There're plenty of leftovers in the fridge for when you get hungry, Sarah, but Toby can't eat everything you can; he's still young—"

Sarah tried not to sigh with impatience, waiting for her father to finish his instructions and leave for his annual Christmas party. "I know, Dad, I've fed him before," she interrupted, trying futilely to stem his unnecessary directions.

"He'll need to eat by six if you're going to get him bathed and changed before his bedtime at eight-thirty." Her father was impervious to her unspoken pleas of silence. She really didn't know why he couldn't accept that she was intelligent enough to take care of Toby for _one_ night without an essay's worth of instructions.

Sarah's stepmother eyed her critically, not missing the teen's contempt. "Dear, we're going to be late if you don't hurry up," she prodded her husband, giving Sarah a look that promised consequences if she slipped up once in her son's care.

Her father blustered for another few moments, reminding her of the numbers to reach them if anything happened, to keep the doors and windows locked, and—

Her stepmother finally bustled him out the door, closing it firmly behind them.

Sarah slumped against the banister for a moment, relieved to be free of her parents for the evening, though it meant she had to give up some of her own time to care for the energetic toddler that her brother had become. The thought of her brother made her smile, however, and she bounded up the stairs to his room, thinking of some games she could play with him before bed.

He always slept better after a good hour's romping.

"Hey Toby, wanna play?" she asked, throwing open the door to his room. "What about—_you_."

The Goblin King turned to smile at her, bouncing her tiny charge on his hip.


	4. Toby—I'm coming, Toby

Author's Note: Chapter four...do I need to say anything else?

Random Fact: The line in the cafeteria scene in Chapter 3 ("The expression on Sarah's face, though it lasted only for a split second, suggested that it _did_ matter, and Jareth grinned suddenly, waiting for the fireworks.") originally ended with something more like "...and Jareth made a mental note to _never_ get her name wrong. She could be terrifying when angry." I changed it since I thought that Jareth deciding to _NOT_ antagonize Sarah would be out of character...he's much more likely to be amused, after all.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Labyrinth_ or any other published work which I may quote or reference. This work is purely for the enjoyment of myself and others, not monetary gain.

_PATIENCE IS NOT A VIRTUE_

* * * 4 * * *

_Toby—I'm coming, Toby._

"Hello, Sarah," Jareth greeted her calmly, hugging her little brother a little closer to his side. "How are you this evening?"

Sarah ignored his question, glaring at him harshly, her hands balled into tight fists at her side. "Give him back," she snarled, her voice low and deadly. "He isn't yours. You can't have him."

Jareth smiled. "I wasn't planning on taking him," he told her cheerfully. "Even though he is such a friendly little chap—I wouldn't mind having one of my own, actually." His smile was smug, thinking of what he would need to beget a child.

A wife, for one. He eyed Sarah's body with a sudden glow in his eyes, considering how she would look once he got her in that position, once she no longer fought him.

Sarah didn't miss the look, and wasn't too far off in interpreting it. "Like anyone would want to have _your_ brat," she snapped, stepping forward to pull Toby from his arms.

He let her, widening his eyes slightly to look wounded. "Why ever not?" he asked, his tone full of injured pride. "Am I not handsome enough? Or enticing enough?"

Sarah clutched her little brother to her too tightly, resting her head on his while she rocked him, keeping him away from the Goblin King. "A pretty face doesn't excuse an asshole personality," she informed him scathingly.

A wide smirk lit up his features once again. "So you agree that I'm pretty," he gloated. "That's an unexpected boon."

Toby began to fuss suddenly, twisting in Sarah's arms to wave his hands at the intimidating blond monarch. "I wanna play!" he announced imperiously while Sarah tried to shush him unsuccessfully.

"Sh, Toby, we'll play. We can play with your blocks—how about that?" Though her voice was sunny and cheerful, something in her expression was off. "Just as soon as _someone_ leaves," she added pointedly, shooting a glare at her imposing visitor.

Jareth held up his hands helplessly as Toby, ever the democratic host, announced, "Jareth play too!"

Jareth _was_ grinning smugly, though—a fact Sarah hadn't missed. "Actually, Toby-love, he has to _leave_. He has to go see his other friends, doesn't he?" She glared at him for emphasis.

Jareth almost laughed at Sarah's transparent effort to make him leave. As if that poor attempt would be successful. "I don't, actually. I took the night off to come see you." He batted his jewel-bright eyes at her flirtingly. "Of course, you've been refusing to see me so adamantly that I had to come see your dear brother instead." He held out a hand to gesture to Toby, who took it as an invitation to grab his fingers and squeal. "Perhaps if you would let me come to you," he purred, stepping closer as Sarah tried futilely to disengage the toddler's fingers from Jareth's without actually touching the Goblin King, "I wouldn't intrude on your brother's play."

Death rode in the glare in Sarah's eyes, though he ignored it, too amused at her attempts to free his hand without making contact. "You shouldn't be intruding on _any_ of our lives," she snapped at him, flicking her eyes up suddenly to catch his, noticing how close he had moved while she had been distracted.

"And why is that?" he breathed, curving one arm around her waist before she could pull away. He stood almost behind her now, tugging her gently toward him, wanting her to lean against his chest.

Toby giggled happily and bounced in Sarah's arms, waving the hand that he still held.

Jareth leaned down to purr in her ear, ignoring how she tried to jerk away from him. He knew that she couldn't get too rough; she was still holding the toddler, and wouldn't put him down for fear of him stealing the child again. She was so predictable that way.

"Don't you like playing with my crystal..._balls_?"

She spun in his arms, her expression scandalized. So she _could_ catch an innuendo. He half-closed his eyes, a smug, sultry expression on his face.

Ruined only slightly by the sharp elbow that met his side—he thought it might be unintentional. She would have done worse, if she had thought of it.

"You—" she snarled at him, hot anger writhing inside her, leaving her momentarily without the words to castigate him as he so richly deserved. Making insinuations like that, when she had _clearly_ told him—more than once!—exactly what she thought of him! The man was _insufferable_.

Jareth smiled down at her impotent fury, loving the way her emerald—or were they hazel?—eyes flashed when she was angry. Passion truly did increase her charms. "Perhaps I should give one to Toby, then, if you don't want yours," he said lightly, keeping his eyes on her, ignoring the boy she still held. He was only a pawn in this game, had only ever been.

Her expression changed satisfyingly from anger to horror, imagining what _she_ thought he might do with her little brother, if she let him get such an opening within her family.

"I wanna ball!" Toby shrieked. "I wanna play!" He had clearly lost his patience watching his two playmates talk over his head, ignorant to the tension strangling the air between them.

Jareth schooled his ethereal features into a pleasant mask as he regarded the small ball of energy. "Ask your sister," he chided calmly, stroking the back of the boy's hand with his thumb, still caught in the tiny fist.

"_No."_ Venom had replaced her voice, though it was half-choked with fear. She couldn't let him near her brother, near her family. She couldn't.

Jareth raised an eyebrow, not wincing as Toby's face fell, then tightened into a wail of displeasure. The boy had strong lungs.

"If you will not use the gift that I gave to you, why should I not give it to someone else?" he challenged, eyes intense as he raised one finger to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Her eyes darkened in wrath, but he kept his face still. She _would_ call him.

"Give it to whomever you like," she replied coldly, "just stay away from my family."

Jareth smirked. "You have no power over me," he taunted her, using the same words that she once had. "You don't have the ability to order me to do _anything_."

She scowled, her hands clenching on her younger brother, who had finally stopped screaming when he realized that doing so would not get him anything.

"If I do something, it is because I choose to." Another sentiment of hers. "And I _choose_ to be with your family." He pulled her in, pinning her against his chest, his eyes glowing. "You or your brother. Make your choice."

Sarah glared up at him, reading the iron will in his eyes, and knew that she had no choice, no escape. Heat radiated from his chest, and she had to concentrate simply to not hit him, though the thought was _very_ tempting. Her chest rose and fell as she tried to formulate an answer.

"I'll call you later," she finally hissed.

Jareth smiled in triumph. "I'll be waiting," he assured her, then vanished.

* * *

Sarah almost growled in frustration, but pushed him out of her mind so that she could tend to Toby. She played with him, fed him, put him to bed...but all her efforts were for naught. Jareth haunted her thoughts like...

...like the greasy smell of cheap fast-food when your stomach was already unsettled; it made her queasy just to think of him.

_How could he be so arrogant!_ she wondered, scrubbing their dishes from supper—grilled cheese and ice cream; Toby's favorite. _This isn't even his world! It's mine! It's not f—_

She caught herself there, remembering the harsh lesson that she had been forced to learn in his labyrinth. His own words mocked her, even from two years ago.

"_You say that so often. I wonder what your basis for comparison is."_

Still. The thought that Jareth could return whenever he wanted, and perhaps disappear with _her_ Toby again—it was terrifying. Her hands slowed as she scrubbed the old, cast iron skillet in the sink, the steam making her hair limp.

She plunged the dish into the scorching water and shivered suddenly, remembering his heat against her body. She didn't even remember what he'd worn, but his expression, the feel of his body against hers—those she remembered with perfect clarity.

What was happening to her? He was dangerous, unpredictable—he was arrogant and spiteful, too used to getting everything he wanted! She couldn't think about how his eyes always lit up most when he gazed at her, their strange blue-and-brown mix...

She snarled at herself for letting him distract her again—and he wasn't even _here!_

She pulled the skillet from the sink and ripped a few paper towels from the roll to dry it with. Like it or not, she had to go face him again.

But this time, he wouldn't come out with the upper hand.


	5. You sure got his attention!

Author's Note: This chapter is NOW FINISHED. (There's a new scene at the end—Jareth is monologuing.) I've gone back and edited the previous chapters as well, so you might reread them to see where I've added bits and pieces of description in. As always, I love getting reviews. (Notwritten, you still have a free question about my future plans for the story. Gemkat5 gets one too, due to her excellent review.)

Random Fact: A question, actually. Does anyone want to see more of Frank/Frederick? I also have an idea for a oneshot or two...and maybe a _Phantom of the Opera_ fan fiction. Tell me what you're most interested in...

Disclaimer: I do not own _Labyrinth_ or any other published work which I may quote or reference. This work is purely for the enjoyment of myself and others, not monetary gain.

_PATIENCE IS NOT A VIRTUE_

* * * 5 * * *

_You sure got his attention!_

Sarah leaned against her bedroom door, balancing Jareth's crystal on the tips of her fingers, as though to hold it more intimately would be repugnant.

"King..." she said, her lips curling over the word, the most impersonal title she knew for him.

"Do you always antagonize the men you call on?"

Jareth's sardonic voice came from the window, where he was again perched.

Sarah turned her head to glare at him, arms crossed over her chest. "Who said that I call on any?" she shot back.

Jareth spread his arms, as though to point to his own presence in her room.

Sarah's eyes narrowed. "_That_ is because you didn't give me a choice. Besides, _most_ men are less _pushy_ and _arrogant_ and _self-absorbed_ and _controlling_." Each word brought her closer to Jareth's seat, where he sat watching her with interest, taking in her fiery eyes and aggressive pose.

"What you're saying is that most men are pussies," he corrected amusedly, rising leisurely to loom over her, grinning his crooked smile down at her. "Unlike me."

Sarah flicked out a hand to slap him, the action as impulsive as it was unsuccessful—Jareth had caught her wrist almost before she realized what she had meant to do, and she was left with the backlogged intention which she suddenly had no way to carry through.

She did manage to cut off his words, though, speaking too quickly for his assuredly smart ass comment to make it out his mouth.

"No. _Most_ men know how to be a gentleman. They don't steal innocent babies, hold grudges from words that were never meant, corner teenaged girls in their bedrooms, or practically _force_ themselves on said girls!" She twisted her wrist viciously at the last statement, trying to break free, but Jareth was ahead of her.

He simply let her follow through with her movement until she had twisted _herself_ in his arms, ending up with her back pressed firmly to his chest, his other arm wound tightly around her waist, doubly insuring her captivity.

"Oh really?" he asked, leaning down to purr in her ear. "May I remind you that it was you who wished Toby away, not me? I would never even have felt the summons if you hadn't meant it at least in part...which takes care of your second prerequisite. As for the last two..." He chuckled darkly, clearly enjoying her torment.

"You know that I only come when I'm called. It's not _my_ fault that you're so often in your bedroom when you do so..." he continued silkily, suggestively. "And isn't there a saying—something about 'Treat others the way you wish to be treated'? You've tried to hit me three times now, and succeeded once. Aren't I justified in being a little bit..._physical_...in return?"

He ignored her sudden stillness as he quoted the Golden Rule, just as he had ignored her continued struggles to escape—which she had kept up since the moment that he had pinned her to his chest. With his final question, he tightened his arm around her hips to pull her into him as he rolled his own hips against hers insistently.

Just before she exploded.

"How _dare_ you use the Golden Rule to justify your twisted fantasies?" she snarled, now fighting against him more wildly, more than ready to sink an elbow into the soft flesh of his sides, or a heel into his tender instep. Jareth suddenly had to tighten his arms around her once again, preferring to use his own body to restrain her to using his magic.

It did, after all, let him keep her against him.

"And _you_ were forcing yourself on me _long_ before I tried to hit you!" she pointed out angrily. "You were the one who ruthlessly forced yourself into my life, not I into yours!"

"_You_ were the one who wished Toby away! Did you honestly think that that would have no repercussions?" he shot back.

"It already did! I had to defeat your labyrinth, and you know what? I did! I won! I kept my brother and went home; game over! It's you who can't get over it!" she snapped, finally managing to land a sharp elbow to his ribcage. "And you know what? Even when you decided to try to come back, did you do it in any intelligent or _reasonable_ way? No! You had to force yourself on me, act like some god-awful preening asshole, and then go behind my back to blackmail me with my brother!"

Jareth finally interrupted her, whirling her around in his arms so that she faced him once again. "And what if I _had?_" he asked. "Would you have paid attention to me then? If I had acted just like any other man you know? Or any other _boy_, that is, because you don't know any men. Not yet."

He had trapped her against his chest, his eyes burning into hers as he answered his own question. "No. You wouldn't have. You would have blown me off, just like last time. If I wanted your attention, I had to _take_ it. And now you're crying because you don't _want_ to know a real man; you want to be left alone with your sad, milksop boyfriends at your pathetic school."

Her face twisted in fury at his assumptions—_boyfriends? Where does he get off?_

"Well, you have my attention now," she hissed back at him, her voice as smooth and icy as his had been rough and impassioned. "And a fat lot of good it's doing you, too, since you're only giving me even more reasons to hate you than I already had. Smart plan, _Jareth_. Real smart plan." His name became an insult in her mouth, his title forgotten.

She pushed away from him, and this time he let her go.

_Hatred?_ he wondered to himself. "What, no second chances for your nobly beaten foe?" he teased, striving to sound as light as he always did.

_This_ time her hand connected with his face, leaving a bright red handprint on his right cheek.

"You don't even know the meaning of the word 'noble,'" she shot back in his face. "And no. You _don't_ get one. If you want it, you'll have to _earn_ it—the hard way. Stop hitting on me, stop threatening my family, stop appearing out of nowhere, stop _stalking_ me!"

They traded a long, heated glare before she finished her ultimatum to the most powerful man she had ever met.

"And get the _hell_ out of my room!"

* * *

Jareth turned on his heel and disappeared, returning to his private suite in the castle, half-snarling to himself over the confrontation.

_I'm better than her pathetic boys!_ he thought, enraged. _Why would she compare them to me? How _could_ she compare them to me? They're worthless; pathetic! Even she has noticed that!_ He thought angrily of the putrid human boy who had manhandled her in the cafeteria at that scheming shrew's direction, and his thoughts grew sulfurous.

He paced around his room impatiently, ignoring the large, ruby-covered bed and the opulent bathroom, hidden through a discreet opening in the wall. He glanced out his window for a moment, resting a hand on the wall by the sill, looking out over his Labyrinth and seeing the copse of trees just beyond the Goblin City's walls, where once Sarah had lain, had received her dreams—_their_ dreams.

He flung himself off the wall in irritation, determined not to think of that night. _Fat lot of good _those_ crystals ever did me..._

Her words came back to him, sharp as broken glass.

"_More reasons to hate you than I already had."_

He growled to himself, stomping across the wide expanses of wood and rug that made his floor. _I only ever did what she expected of me!_ he wailed to himself.

A timid scratching came at the door, and he barked "Leave me!" brusquely. A high squeak came from beyond the closed portal, and he scowled in his foul humor.

_A gentleman_, he thought ironically. _First a villain, now a gentleman. Damn._

He knew how the storyline was supposed to go: The fair maiden met a man whom she believed to be callow and heartless, completely without remorse, and summarily rejected him. Through time and gentle coaxing, he slowly revealed to her his softer nature, led her to believe that he was not the emotionless villain that she pictured him as. Then, of course, she fell willingly into his tender embrace and they...did nothing. Oh, there was the usual blather about "staring into each others' eyes" and "embracing tenderly," but it was all a load of crock.

_Those_ heroes were about as exciting as dish soap. _Used_ dish soap.

He was _not_ going to be one of those heroes, even for her...though he would respect her wishes. Mostly. In general, at least. A good percentage of the time—whenever he thought about it.

...or as little as he could get away with. Whatever worked.

He set to work on his next plans, humming happily to himself, pondering her reaction to his next set of tricks.


	6. A wicked stepmother in a fairy story

Author's Note: I apologize for taking so bloody long with this chapter...but it absolutely refused to be written. I'm still not completely satisfied with how it came out, though there are parts of it that I think will help later in the story...

For those of you who care... I've written a oneshot for _Labyrinth_, as well as a poem I wrote years ago which (somewhat loosely) relates to _Guitar Girl_. (No, you don't have to read the book to appreciated the poem.) I also have a poll about possible other oneshot ideas on my profile page...they'll get written whether you vote or not, but I would _love_ some second opinions about which ideas my readers find most entertaining. (Only five people have voted so far. I've fallen back on bullying my friends into telling me their opinion.)

Random Fact: Part of what made this chapter take so long (other than a massive case of writer's block) was that my obsessiveness kicked in midway through writing it, and I decided to go back and put exact dates to the events of the story. (So far, it's taken place from November 23-December 22, 2004. Prom/con night is planned for May 7, 2005—which happened to be the date of my brother's senior prom. Small world, isn't it?)

Disclaimer: I do not own _Labyrinth_ or any other published work which I may quote or reference. This work is purely for the enjoyment of myself and others, not monetary gain.

_PATIENCE IS NOT A VIRTUE_

* * * 6 * * *

_A wicked stepmother in a fairy story..._

Sarah glanced up, halfway through her trigonometry homework, and finally noticed the intrusion in her room. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, but she bit back the angry screech that threatened to erupt and carefully finished her problems, putting the paper back in her folder and the folder and book in her bag before moving to confront the perpetrator.

She meticulously pinched the offending items between forefinger and thumb, as though they were dangerously contaminated, and paraded out of her room, back straight and head held high.

"Excuse me. But what, exactly, are _these?_" she asked her stepmother, dangling the strappy, vividly pink shoes in the woman's face.

Her eyes narrowed. "_Those_ would be your shoes for prom, young woman. You refuse to find any for yourself, so I found some for you. They were the last pair in stock in your size, and they match the dress."

"They're hideous. And I'm still not going."

Pursed lips joined the narrowed eyes. "I don't like your tone, Sarah. You _will _go to prom. You _will_ wear the shoes and the dress, and you _will_ be on good behavior, or—"

Sarah, keeping her eyes focused unflinchingly on her stepmother's, extended her arm over the trash can and unpinched her fingers.

"You _are_ grounded. Beginning now."

* * *

Sarah spent the next two weeks doing her homework at the dining room table—in plain view of her stepmother in the kitchen—and far from the privacy of her room, where dwelt her books, toys, and Labyrinthine friends. If no one was happy about the arrangement, they were, at least, equally miserable.

Sarah, being grounded, was forbidden from disappearing into her room, from reading her fantasy novels, or, really, from doing anything that she wanted to do. Instead, she was condemned to complete her homework _immediately_ upon arriving home from school and after that, to do chores for her stepmother: scrubbing dishes, washing and folding laundry, vacuuming, dusting, cleaning up after Toby...

Her homework had never been completed so meticulously.

Her stepmother, meanwhile, had the unenviable task of enforcing this detestable penance on a recalcitrant teenage daughter, and the man of the house wisely stayed out of the warpath between the menopausal wife and the hormonal daughter.

The overtime bonuses were pleasant.

* * *

"Hoggle!" Sarah called, able to indulge herself with time at her mirror for the first time since her grounding. "Hoggle? Ludo? Sir Didymus?" She waited a few minutes for them to answer, since she knew that they couldn't always drop their activities immediately, but began to turn away after about five minutes of staring into a blank mirror. Perhaps they were mad at her? She had disappeared for two weeks, after all...she wouldn't have known if they had tried to contact her in that time or not...

"Relax. Those three are just busy—there's a rather nasty fairy infestation out in the bog, and I sent them to fix it."

Sarah jumped at the unexpected, sarcastic tone echoing from her mirror and whirled back to face it. In the silvered glass, Jareth lay sprawled across her bed, the picture of contentment.

She spun to look at her real bed. Empty.

The Goblin King chuckled darkly from her mirror. "After the last time I saw you, I wasn't sure I wanted to get too close again. You almost bruised my side."

"I wish I had," she snapped back, her hackles rising instantly with his appearance in place of her friends.

He shrugged leisurely, appearing unconcerned with her antagonism. "In any case, I just didn't want you to think that I'd done something nasty to them, since you seem to think so poorly of me."

"And sending them to the bog isn't 'something nasty'?" she retorted.

Jareth lifted an aristocratic eyebrow. "It's their job," he said simply. "Would you have me be so lax a ruler that I let my subjects laze around and slack off at their tasks? Or let my kingdom be overrun by malicious, biting fairies? They're rather like mosquitoes, if I understand your world correctly."

Sarah's eyes narrowed, working out a way to respond.

"No matter," he continued airily, waving a hand. "They have a break coming up in another two hours or so. I'll tell them you called." He pushed himself to his feet and gave her an abbreviated salute, a wry twist to his lips. "Have a nice day."

And walked out of the mirror's frame, disappearing from sight.

* * *

"My lady! His Majesty just said that you called—"

"That rat waited 'til the last minute, though..."

"—and we hastened to the nearest portal as quickly as may be—"

"_SAWAH FRIEND!"_

"He didn't do nothing to you? You didn't call us for a while... I wouldn't put nothing past him..."

"My lady? Is there anything the matter? I am terribly sorry—"

"_MISSED SAWAH!"_

"—not free to come when you called us, but—"

"He stuck us in the bog, chasin' those darned fairies. Evil blighters."

"_SMELL BAD! BITES BAD!"_

"Indeed, their teeth are quite sharp, but you simply have to spray them first, with Sir Hoggle's fine spray! It takes care of them most handily."

"But you gots no aim for shootin' 'em, Didymus."

"I protest! Why, I vanquished nearly as many as you yourself did, good sir!"

Sarah put her head down on her arms and shook with laughter. This was what she had needed—the chance to talk to her friends again, to tell them what had been going on over the last month. That, and the thought of Sir Didymus, armed with a spray can and going after the little fairy creatures—it was too much.

"My lady? Are you alright? You're trembling." Sir Didymus's concerned inquiry finally brought her out of her paroxysms of laughter.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. I've just had a long week. A long _several_ weeks. I missed you guys so much," she assured them, leaning forward on her elbows, putting on a brave smile for them.

The little knight leaned forward from his perch on the edge of her bed and raised a hand as though to touch her. "_Several_ weeks, milady? Whatever has been the matter?" he questioned.

Sarah closed her eyes slowly and massaged her forehead with her fingertips. "Everything," she replied heavily, and began the long explanation.

* * *

Jareth watched Sarah vent to her friends—supposedly _his_ loyal subjects!—through yet another of his crystal balls. That they sat and listened to her while ignoring their duties to him rankled, even if it did allow him a unique chance to hear her unedited opinion. One eyebrow was quirked with interest at her complaints about her stepmother's plans for the upcoming holiday—was it Chrastmis?

No, Christmas. He wondered what the significance was, other than a chance to go shopping and pass around a bunch of presents.

Excessive cleaning and redecorating, the grounding, and oh yes, more complaints about her parents' plans for her for prom. He listened with rapt amusement as her spiel continued, becoming vastly self-satisfied and only minutely guilty when complaints about _himself_ suddenly began edging out the others for vehemence.

_My dear, you wouldn't be so worked up if you didn't care...at least a little,_ he purred to himself, smirking handsomely.

Then his eyes fell on the sorry excuse for a dwarf, Huxle, and his good mood vanished. No matter how valuable these insights were to Jareth, he could never truly convince himself that it was for _his_ benefit or companionship or counsel that Sarah opened up like this.

He growled suddenly, his fist closing tightly over the crystal and shattering it.

Not for him—_never_ for him. Sarah was, if anything, more guarded around him than she was around anyone else, including her stepmother and those rather repulsive harpies at her school. He wanted her, damn it all, and he wanted her to give herself to him willingly and completely.

It was the only resolution which he would accept, and he _would_ have her.


	7. I've brought you a gift

Author's Note: I now have a beta (Landlord's Daughter, if you're curious), and she and I sent this chapter back and forth...oh...three or four times to get it polished and up-to-snuff. (You can thank her for making sure some parts of this are less confusing than they otherwise would be...like Sarah's "logical" argument.)

She also thinks that Sarah needs to get over herself...and that Jareth does too, for that matter...so I'll see what I can do about them in the next chapter. Which may or may not include them actually (if briefly) getting along! If you want more updates as to how the writing of the next chapter is going...I've developed a tendency to post little updates at the top of my profile. (Look for the italics—and I generally include the date that I post the update, so that you know how old it is.)

Random Fact: I considered cutting one of the scenes in this chapter—it's the one with Jareth's closet—but Ms. Beta said no. (Jareth said no too, but he didn't actually have any good reasons.) If you want to see the argument I had with Jareth about that very scene, you're going to have to go read Chapter 2 of "Playful Oneshots". You can also go read it if you just want to see me argue with my muse(s).

Disclaimer: I do not own _Labyrinth_ or any other published work which I may quote or reference. This work is purely for the enjoyment of myself and others, not monetary gain.

_PATIENCE IS NOT A VIRTUE_

* * * 7 * * *

_I've brought you a gift._

Being able to talk to her friends again calmed Sarah down enough that when Christmas arrived, three days later, she was able to withstand the incessant, unwanted attention of distant to unknown relatives and the equally unending and unwelcome harping of her stepmother.

"_Hey there, little missy, how about topping off my glass?"_

"_Tell me, do you know if there are any more of these...are they boiled eggs?"_

"_Sarah, go bring out the other tray from the kitchen. And do change your shirt; it doesn't match the rest of your outfit."_

"_Yes, stepmother..."_

Escaping to her room that night was a relief. It meant that she was finally able to relax and be by herself, or, if she preferred, to call upon her friends again.

Which she did, and they spent a lovely hour talking and exchanging stories—the Labyrinth had been covered in several feet of snow, and the bog was now one large sheet of ice. Impromptu snowball fights kept breaking out, and although dodging the persistent and mischievous goblins was trying, the sudden storm had, at least, taken care of the fairy infestation.

When she finally sighed and bid them goodnight, she turned in her chair and started back.

This time, Jareth _was_ sprawled leisurely across her bed, and not simply an illusion in the mirror.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she snapped defensively.

He grinned in a way that should be outlawed—either for being too disturbing or too alluring; she couldn't decide which.

"Isn't it obvious? I came to wish you a merry Christmas," he teased, stretching his arms up to place under his head. The movement accentuated his chest, largely revealed by the open neck of his white poet's shirt. Emerald vines twined around the neck of the shirt, and the gaping laces utterly failed to hold the edges of the shirt together.

Sarah's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. Her friends hadn't known about Christmas until she'd told them—they had other celebrations in the Underground, they'd said—so she knew that Jareth was only using his Christmas wishes as an excuse to harass her.

"Well, now you have, so you can _leave_," she retorted cruelly.

He tutted at her. "Sarah, Sarah... Surely you don't think that poorly of me, to come without a gift for you?" He freed his right arm and twirled his wrist, a clear, shimmering orb appearing on his fingertips.

Sarah remained unmoved. "I'm not even going to ask what it is," she warned him.

He grinned in response. "It's a crystal, nothing more. But if you turn it this way..." And he threw it at her.

Sarah took a deep breath, preparing to chew him out yet again, but reacted instinctively to try to bat the ball away. When it touched her hand, however, it transformed into a silver chain that draped neatly over her fingers.

She jumped in surprise at the sudden change before tilting her wrist back to glare at the simple necklace—just a plain, silver necklace with a large silver pendant, inlaid with gold. It looked almost like a Celtic design, but was too wild for that. Delicate wires in silver and gold crisscrossed over and under each other, creating a matrix that was as confusing and beautiful as what it meant to portray.

"It's the Labyrinth," Jareth supplied before she had a chance to ask—or complain. He ignored her sour look and stretched out his legs, encased in snug, dark green breeches that matched the embroidery on his shirt. "And before you ask, no, I won't take it back. That would be quite against the spirit of Christmas."

He winked cheekily.

Sarah snorted. "Well, I have nothing for you, nor do I plan on finding anything, so you'll have to take it back anyway," she objected lightly. "It simply wouldn't be _fair_ of me to take your gift without offering anything in return."

Jareth shrugged, managing to project an air equally easy-going before rolling to his feet and leaning against her bed. "There is something I'd like to know, actually. One of your traditions, I believe."

Sarah looked at him suspiciously. "Oh?" she inquired, also rising to try to even out their heights.

It was a futile attempt, but she refused to look up at him from the level of his waist.

"Yes," he continued. Not even an angel could have sounded more innocent than he did in that moment. "What do those little berries on the ceiling mean?"

Sarah felt a sudden, overwhelming sense of dread as she raised her eyes to gaze at the bright, green and red sprig of mistletoe. Suspended directly over her head.

Jareth's amused chuckle came suddenly in her ear, his warmth at her back. "Doesn't it have to do with..._kissing_?" he purred.

* * *

Sarah stared at the television screen moodily, long after the fact. Much though she resented being where she was, she couldn't deny the necessity of it, and so she stayed.

Sitting on her stepmother's couch, surrounded by yet _more _people, was not really where she wanted to be, but she was hardly going to give _him_ such a golden opportunity. He had already proven himself to be too knowledgeable about certain human traditions, and she was certain that he did it just to irritate her.

Mysterious, magical beings in tight pants could be quite annoying, she mused to herself, particularly when certain phrases had no meaning for them.

"Sexual harassment," for example, or "restraining order."

The announcer on TV babbled on insignificantly as Sarah rose and wandered into the kitchen, making herself briefly useful by carrying more snacks into the thronged living room. Someone reached for her bounty and she resigned it willingly, resuming her seat on the couch for lack of any other, better alternative. Her room was still too risky for about another hour.

_Surely that will be enough time_, she thought to herself. _He can't try anything now; he's not that much of an idiot._

Just thinking of him made her burn with rage at the last time she had seen him. It had been a very good thing that her father had knocked on her door when he had, or else the oh-so-mighty Goblin King might be sporting a broken nose by now.

_Not that explaining why I looked so pissed—and was holding a strange necklace he'd never seen—was any more fun_, she considered. _But at least mentioning Mom still gets him off my case._

After all, who better to blame a strange, seemingly otherworldly necklace on than her flighty, actress mother? It was certainly intricate enough to be a movie prop.

She was once again distracted from her ruminations by the television, in which several thousand people began counting down _en masse_. She tried to ignore both of them and the glittering crystal ball in the background, the sight of which made her slightly nauseous.

"Glitter" and "crystal balls" were two things that she could live without at the moment, and hopefully forever.

Unfortunately, her stepmother's guests did not share her lack of enthusiasm, and she had to put up with being rudely jostled as the mildly inebriated couples began shamelessly snogging each other around her.

"Happy New Year!" someone crowed behind her as the opening bars of "Auld Lang Syne" began floating from the infernal television.

"Maybe for you..." she muttered darkly.

* * *

It was almost a quarter to one when she finally gave up hiding downstairs, making excuses to stay where people still moved sluggishly about her house, and went up to her room.

_Surely_, she thought, _surely by now he'll have given it up as hopeless and decided not to harass me tonight. Surely._

But then, when did annoying, arrogant, and _vain_ Goblin Kings ever listen to reason?

* * *

Jareth chuckled as he eavesdropped on her mental venting. It was just like her to make everything he did into an unforgivable crime while ignoring the entire point.

He stretched as he meandered into his closet, debating what to wear tonight. Some of her stepmother's guests had had interesting ideas, though not as good as the ones on that strange little box they'd all been staring so raptly at.

He tried ona pair of brown leather pants with a slight flair at the bottom with a cream silk shirt. He stared into the mirror, debating, and then decided that it was too bland for his pale complexion. The shirt was promptly stripped off and left abandoned on the floor as he returned to his closet, still thinking.

A vivid red shirt replaced the cream one, but he didn't like red on brown. Too little visual interest.

He returned to his closet, scratching his chest between the open edges of the shirt. Several other outfits were tried on and just as promptly discarded before he found one he could live with.

Black pants—still leather; he wasn't about to forsake it completely—fit snugly over his hips and thighs, though they were less obvious from the front. It wasn't quite what he wanted, but perhaps it would soothe Sarah if he weren't _quite _so blatant about his assets.

He was mollified by the rear view, however, when he turned around to peer over his shoulder into the mirror. It hugged his ass quite flatteringly.

His shirt was grey silk, and flowed like water over his lithe form. It was styled as an Aboveground dress shirt, though the fabric's shine made it less professional and more seductive.

Leaving the top few buttons open also helped.

His hair, though pale, was still rather yellow for the cool tones of his ensemble, so he combed his fingers through his long mane, leaving glistening silver highlights in their wake.

Better.

He gave himself one last, critical examination in the mirror before stepping out of his bedroom and into his intended's.

* * *

Sarah was rooting in her closet for her nightclothes when she felt a puff of air on the back of her neck, as though someone had opened the door, or—

—as though _he_ had done his magical appearing act right behind her.

"Damn it, I thought I told you to stop stalking me!" she snarled quietly, straightening and whirling to face his too-condescending smirk.

He shrugged, hands outstretched to show that they were empty, and smiled. "Really, Sarah," he purred, leaning back against her small vanity-desk, "how could you expect me to stay away from such a ravishing young thing as yourself?"

She folded her arms and glared at him, her pajamas looped over one forearm. "And you actually expect me to believe that." Her statement wasn't a question, her tone too bitingly sarcastic. "That you're actually attracted to me." She sneered, but Jareth refused to be put off.

"Well, if you won't believe _that_," he said, hiding his rejection in half-lidded, burning eyes and a subtle smirk, "then why not try this—an old enemy has come to bury the hatchet, just like your song."

Sarah snorted, remembering which song he referred to—it was the only one that anyone was playing tonight.

"Figuratively speaking, of course," he continued, his smirk growing slightly as he eyed her antagonistic stance. "I'm not sure that I'd trust you with a _real_ one."

"You—!" she began, flying forward—to do what, she wasn't sure, but sense didn't exactly figure into attacking the Goblin King anyway.

Jareth caught her and laughed, wrapping her in his strong arms and rocking her gently as she pushed against him, now fighting just as hard to escape.

"Sarah, do calm down," he chided gently, still holding her patiently and waiting out her struggles. "I'm not actually here to fight you."

"Yeah _right!_" she snapped, ignoring her change of clothes as they began to slip off her arm.

Jareth caught them smoothly and tossed them onto her bed quickly, uncharacteristically making no comment. "What? I just came to wish you a happy new year," he said in tones of injured dignity.

"Midnight was almost an _hour_ ago, you mullet-haired poof," she pointed out, still hostile. They had come to a stand-still, her hands on his chest pushing him away as his arms around her waist prevented her escape.

She didn't notice that he'd stopped trying to force her against his chest, and was now simply holding her.

"I know that," he declared patiently. "But not in the Underground. There, the clock is about to strike thirteen. And there is a lovely tradition you mortals have..." He let his voice trail off suggestively.

"Not. On. Your. _Life_," she hissed, digging her nails into the thin, silken fabric of his shirt.

Jareth shrugged slightly and rolled his eyes at her reaction. She insisted on being so dramatic.

"Besides," she snapped, "the math doesn't work out, you lying cheat."

He raised one flyaway eyebrow at this wonderingly. "Oh?"

"You use a thirteen hour clock," she pointed out. "So if that's anything like _our_ clocks, you have a twenty-six hour day—so your midnight would be _two_ hours away from ours, not one. And since there are exactly _two_ hours difference, an even number, you can't line up your midnight with ours and still expect to get just one hour off! It's impossible! Besides, the differing lengths of days would mean that earth and Underground would eventually get so far off from each other that it'd be useless trying to compare them. _You_ just want to kiss me!" she finished scornfully.

Jareth had kept a politely interested—if slightly amused—expression on his face throughout her entire harangue. "You've been thinking about this for quite some time, haven't you?" he asked mildly.

Sarah snorted. "It wasn't hard to figure out," she scoffed. "Any child could do it. Besides, Hoggle told me that you don't celebrate things like New Year's anyway."

He gave that insufferably arrogant nod, as though he were digesting what she had said. "It's quite a nice bit of logic," he allowed, giving her one brief moment of success, "but still complete bullshit."

Her eyes blazed again as she tried to fight her way back to freedom, but he held her fast and continued before she could interrupt, as he saw she meant to.

"First, you assume that because I have a thirteen hour clock, I use it to measure time the same way that you use a twelve hour one—that thirteen hours is half of one day." He smiled regretfully and shook his head. "Poor thing—haven't you ever heard of props? And thirteen is _such _a dramatic number in your world; you'd have thought that I'd take advantage of that motif—it was lying right there, begging to be used!"

Sarah did _not _like having her clever assumptions debunked, Jareth noted with amusement.

"Secondly, just because you can pass between the realms doesn't mean that their hours should start and stop at the same time. It's a totally different world, with different divisions of days and hours and—oh, all sorts of things. Astronomy, you know," he said, giving her a knowing look.

"Though you are quite right about Above- and Underground being on different years," he congratulated her, though it sounded more like patting the runt of the litter's head after it had managed something perfectly obvious. "I used the same hours as earth for your convenience, not mine, love," he purred.

Sarah finally managed to rip herself out of his arms and stumbled several steps back, not realizing how much she had depended on his arms for support as she pushed against him. "You arrogant bastard!" she spat.

Jareth laughed delightedly and caught her again easily, this time pulling her immediately to his chest and nuzzling her dark hair. "Though you were right about one other thing," he murmured seductively into her silky locks.

"And what would that be?" she growled, squirming unhappily in his arms.

He tilted her head up and smiled beautifully. "I really did just want to kiss you," he purred, and captured her lips with his.

His lips were unexpected soft and warm, pressing against hers gently in a way that made her want to curl her toes and melt into him—but this was _Jareth!_ King of tricksters, lord over a Labyrinth that could change in the blink of an eye and was never what it seemed! He'd stolen her brother, set the cleaners on her, sent her that damn peach and its crazy—_beautiful_, something in her mind whispered—dream! She couldn't trust him—he was probably only planning some new devilry to throw at her next.

_But oh, just think of how handsome he is, how wonderful this feels, when you aren't fighting him_, that same voice whispered, noting how his hand on the small of her back pulled her gently against him, arching her body to fit more perfectly—more cozily—against his own, how he seemed to purr in contentment at finally, _finally_, being able to kiss her...

She stomped on the voice aggressively and pushed him back, and this time he let her.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, trying to kiss me again?" she demanded roughly, refusing to admit that she was slightly dizzy from the feeling of his velvet lips moving against hers.

It was going to be a long night, he decided.


	8. A little trickery on my part

Author's Note: In apology for the two-ish weeks that I took to write this chapter (which I'm beginning to think is normal for me), I offer you an unparalleled six pages. In an attempt to spark some reviews out of you, there is an as-yet-unequalled amount of fluff and smexy Jareth.

Random Fact: Jareth is very irritated that I left out the one thing which originally prompted this scene...namely, that this takes place on King's Day, which he has decided is a holiday expressly created to celebrate _him_. (Yes, he's that arrogant.)

Disclaimer: I do not own _Labyrinth_ or any other published work which I may quote or reference. This work is purely for the enjoyment of myself and others, not monetary gain.

_PATIENCE IS NOT A VIRTUE_

* * * 8 * * *

_A little trickery on my part..._

Precal, Sarah decided, had to be one of the most desperately boring things on the planet.

_I don't even know why I have to take it,_ she grumbled to herself, taking notes on a sheet of paper. _I may not know what, exactly, I plan to do with my life, but I _know_ that it won't include calculus. Seriously—since when is a degree in mathematics required to balance a checkbook?_

She sighed to herself as she scribbled down formulas and equations that she didn't understand and cared nothing about.

_Sometimes life just sucks,_ she thought to herself, using a pause in the teacher's monologue to glance at the clock. _Just fifteen minutes left! _she rejoiced, impatient to hear the final bell. _And Karen's working late tonight, so she'd never know if I dropped by the bookstore on the way home and got something to take my mind off this impossible homework..._

She snorted at the thought of her stepmother's job. While she claimed that it involved extremely important and delicate matters of style and taste, Sarah wasn't convinced.

_Ripping people's new design ideas is definitely "important" and "delicate,"_ she thought with scorn. _She's nothing but a jumped-up editor of some old lady's magazine...

* * *

_

Half an hour later, Sarah stood before the tall, sliding glass doors of her self-declared haven and took a deep breath. A sign loomed large over her head, though she didn't look up to read it. She had been here before; the words were not new to her.

As the doors _whooshed_ open of their own accord, she let her breath out in a happy sigh and stepped inside.

She loved this place.

She snagged a small cart as she passed their racks, then wandered deeper into the store, passing by several shelves while inhaling the unique scent that filled the air—part dust, part coolant tang, but mostly yellowed paper and faded ink.

Other customers browsed the shelves of books, and she glanced at them with impersonal disinterest as she guided her hand basket on its small metal trolley toward her favorite section, announced by a large blue-on-white sign above the shelves: _SCIENCE FICTION/FANTASY_.

She was halfway there when one of the other patrons caught her attention. The man was tall and slender with his white-blond hair pulled back with a hair tie, from which several wisps had already strayed. A royal blue shirt matched his pale skin tone to perfection, though she couldn't have said how, and from the way it hung loosely about his shoulders, he had left the top few buttons undone; the cuffs she could see he had neatly folded up to his elbows, as though for some important task. Gently faded jeans—designer? she didn't recognize the label—made his lean legs look even longer, and the subtle stitching on the back pockets...

He crouched, his back to her, and began examining the contents of one of the shelves, twisting his head sideways to read the titles. A low, absent-minded humming sound floated to her ears, and she had to blink for a few moments to clear a certain, stubborn thought from her head.

_Damn__, but he has a nice ass..._

The man straightened, glancing over and noticing her for the first time. His handsome face lit up with a surprised—but pleased—smile.

"Hello Sarah," Jareth greeted her. "How have you been?"

She had to blink. The hot stranger in her favorite store was _Jareth?_

"What are you doing here?" she blurted out suddenly, astonished. She'd never expected to see him outside of the Labyrinth...or her bedroom, of course. (Hopefully not Toby's room again, at least.)

Jareth waved a hand in an expansive gesture, managing to take in the shelves of books, the other customers, and the small caravan of filled carts behind him. "Shopping for books. What does it look like I was doing?" he asked pleasantly. "You mortals fascinate me."

She almost choked, but hoped that it might escape unnoticed as he turned his head to peer at the shelves again with a distracted expression. "And how is that?" she asked, leaning against the end of the bookcase gingerly, ready to move if he came after her.

He shrugged, still gazing at the row of books before him. "Well, the goblin castle's library starts getting old after a few thousand years," he answered, ignoring the stunned expression he knew she wore behind him. "And since I keep getting called off to your world, I thought I might as well know _something_ about it."

Sarah was still digesting his first sentence. "Wait—you have a library? And how old _are_ you?" she demanded.

"Of course I have a library, Sarah," he said patiently. "Though I will admit that needing to keep it padlocked to prevent the goblins from reducing it to confetti rather detracts from the appeal, but it does exist. And did you never learn that it's rude to ask a fae's age? _Really_, Sarah."

But his eyes glittered with friendly teasing rather than reprimand, though his smile _did_ rather take her breath away...

"In any case, your world's history makes up our mythology and fairy tales, just as our world makes up yours," he continued blithely.

Then he winked and plucked a book suddenly from the shelf. "You have it _completely_ wrong, you know," he confided, tossing the book with one hand and catching it suddenly with the other. "To be fair, though, so do we. Comes of having almost no traffic between the two worlds." He whirled suddenly to lean against the bookshelf and began flipping through the book, strands of blond hair falling forward to partially obscure his face.

Sarah stared at him in silence for another moment, still trying to process the sudden flood of information that he'd just thrown at her. Her world was a myth to him? And _thousands of years old?_

She sidled closer, trying to ignore how the familiar clothes made him seem less intimidating, more..._sexy._ Not that his other clothes were _bad_, mind you...they were just so...different. She could never forget that Jareth was from another world, whereas now—she was dangerously at risk of doing just that, and reacting to him as she would to any other hot guy she met...who liked reading and talking to her and was nice... That really wasn't a safe thought to have around him...

"So that's why you're reading about..." She glanced at the shelf behind him, trying to decipher the topic. "the Roman empire? If you're thousands of years old, wouldn't you have been alive then?"

He placed a finger in the book to mark his place and leaned back to regard her with something like amusement. "Yes. But being alive back then and knowing about all the politics going on is different—or at least, it was then. They didn't have newspapers and CNN, you know."

Now he _did_ look amused, Sarah decided, and was cut off when she would have attacked his unspoken assumption that she _didn't_ know that daily news was strictly a modern invention.

"But in any case, it's quite hard to travel between worlds when I'm not being summoned," he continued smoothly. "I can manage it around you easily enough because you _did_ summon me once, which creates a sort of link—think of it as a mystical sort of 'frequent flyer pass,' if you'd like." Again that amused smirk. "Which is why I chose this bookstore, of course. Same town—similar rules."

And he shrugged, flipping suddenly to the title page of the book. "By the way, you wouldn't happen to know if this...'Mark Farmer, Ph.D.'...is a reliable source, would you?"

Sarah stared at him blankly. _Is there something wrong with him?_ she wondered. _He's never been quite so...capricious. Or _un_-pushy._

The last, however, was not a change which she would regret, merely wonder at.

"No idea," she said, blinking.

Jareth shrugged, reaching up to run it through his hair. "Ah well," he began, and then frowned as his hand's motion was arrested by the ponytail.

He seemed to have forgotten that he'd put his hair up.

"Bloody Aboveground hair..." he muttered to himself, shoving the book back on the shelf and reaching behind his head to the hair band. "Bloody hair band..."

Sarah leaned against the bookshelf opposite him and watched in silent amusement, tempered with slight confusion. "Have you really never put your hair up before?" she asked, arms folded loosely.

Jareth spared a glance her way. "No," he answered shortly. "And I really don't like the way this..._thing_...is tugging on my hair. But if I leave it down, everyone stares at me, which becomes distracting when I'm trying to look at books."

Sarah simply rolled her eyes. "I thought you'd have _liked_ being the center of attention." _He certainly seemed to demand that in the Labyrinth..._ she thought to herself.

Jareth rolled his eyes. "I usually do. But occasionally I have other priorities—like finding something to distract myself from the goblins' territorial wars over the feral chickens that they _insist_ on bringing into the castle."

Sarah gave him a look he recognized from centuries of dealing with the goblins' idiocy. "Why," she asked slowly, "would they want _feral chickens?_ Are domesticated ones not good enough?"

Jareth sighed heavily. "Feral chickens lay eggs," he stated succinctly. "And they peck. Apparently, this makes them the pinnacle of chicken desirability."

Sarah continued to look disbelievingly horrified. Jareth decided to distract her. "Look—can you help get this _thing_ out? It's trying to pull my hair out from the roots."

He was usually not so helpless, but if seeming pathetic and needy convinced her to stop trying to hit him...then he could afford a little helplessness.

Sarah sighed heavily and pinched his sleeve to turn his back to her, peering into the—now tangled—locks of platinum hair. "A _rubber band?_ You used a rubber band? Jareth, do you have no sense at all? Of course it's pulling on your hair!"

Jareth just grinned, his expression safely hidden behind the masses of silky-soft hair his beloved was now carefully inspecting. His day was improving by the second.

He let her rant at him, knowing that it would make her feel better, and only tuned back in when she made a legitimate complaint.

"You're too tall. I can't see what I'm doing." She huffed with exasperation in his ear, and he repressed a pleased shiver. She had _no_ idea how sensitive his scalp was...and in all sorts of tingly, toe-curling ways...

"There's a bench at the end of the aisle," he purred, his voice seductive. "Shall I go sit there?"

Sarah pretended desperately not to notice, extricating her fingers from his silken locks so he could move. "Yes," she replied, attempting to sound firm and decisive, but only managed to sound slightly out of breath.

Jareth smirked to himself but made no comment. Instead, he sauntered, lean hips swaying in low-cut denim, to the short wooden bench near Sarah's abandoned cart. Once there, the royal _poured_ himself onto the seat, stretching his long legs over the length of the bench. He propped himself up on his arms, waiting until Sarah had raised her hands once more to his golden mane to drop his head back and gaze up at her.

"Thank you for helping me, by the way," he drawled lazily. "I _do_ appreciate it."

Sarah snorted. "Can't you stop being insufferably smug for _two seconds?_"

He didn't bother to dignify that with the obvious answer. He let her tip his head forward again and closed his eyes, smiling like a contented cat as he felt her fingers reenter his hair. He was perfectly determined to enjoy every moment of this, and considering that his hair had a natural tendency to disobey all attempts to control it—and rubber bands were, by all accounts, the most diabolical way to tie hair back—those moments could be lengthy.

Her hands were unexpectedly gentle, teasing the strands of hair away from the thick elastic a little at a time, and he had to concentrate to remain still beneath her clever fingers. One lapse, and he'd be purring and rubbing against her like any common feline...

He gave in to the slight tugs as she painstakingly teased apart the different loops of the stubborn rubber band, sighing in frustration as they kept snagging on his thick locks. He imagined that those sighs were, instead, for _him_, and had to begin counting his breaths so as not to pull her into his lap, willing or no.

She mumbled something about cutting the rubber band, and he hummed in acknowledgement, low and throaty. Sarah raised an eyebrow at how very still he was sitting, but pulled a pair of nail clippers from her pocket and made the careful snip before he could protest. She wasn't sure what the almost-growl had meant, but it had a strange effect on her knees...

Jareth smiled to himself when she propped herself on the bench, the heat of her body more intense as she leaned closer to him.

"I—just curious," she quavered, trying to distract herself from the way the fine down of his hair slid over her hands like a caress, "but..."

"Yes?" he invited slowly, drawing the word out as though tasting it delicately.

"Those books—where do you get the money to pay for them? I mean..." She dithered for a moment, unsure of how to ask what she wanted to know. "I can't see you working somewhere, though I guess you could always magic up the money from nowhere, or..."

He chuckled darkly, enchanted by her innocent curiosity. Of all the things about him, she worried about his _finances..._

"Sarah..._darling_...do you have any idea how many coins get dropped, or roll away somewhere, and are simply forgotten? They all add up after a while, and part of ruling the Labyrinth involves taking away lost and unwanted things. Coins, old toys—you saw the junkyard, I'm sure—embarrassing, old relics of the past..."

"Baby brothers," she interjected bitterly, pulling unnecessarily hard on the remaining coil of elastic.

Jareth grunted, but somehow, it didn't seem an _unhappy_ sound. "If someone decides they want it back, I give them a challenge equal to the forsaken object—or person. You passed the test, so I returned young Toby. I also," and here he lowered his voice, as though inviting her to share a secret with him, "grant wishes."

Sarah scowled. "What? Like 'please steal my baby brother; I'm sure I don't need him anymore'?" she taunted.

"Mm... Not as many of those as you might think," he chided lazily. "Though you would be _amazed_ at what some people wish for at a wishing well. One of my favorite entertainments when I'm bored."

Sarah made an incredulous noise in the back of her throat, and her hands stilled in his partially liberated mane.

"But as long as I fulfill their wishes, I deem it only natural that I take their offering. After all, that was why they made it." He shrugged languidly, his head slowly tipping back so that it almost rested on her chest. "Don't you agree?"

"I..." She hadn't expected to be asked for an opinion, and her fingers scrabbled blindly at the still-captured locks for something to do. "What kind of wishes do they make?"

"Oh, lots of the usual—things born of jealousy, or desire, or greed—rarely from altruism, at any rate—and then there are the strange ones. A little girl once asked for a pink rhinoceros." He paused for a moment, savoring the memory. "Her parents were quite surprised when they got home. So were the zookeepers who came that afternoon."

Sarah couldn't help it; she choked on her laughter even as she tried to scold him. "You didn't! Jareth, that's dangerous!"

"Oh, no one was hurt," he breezily assured her. "It was only a small one, after all, and I made sure it was too indolent to charge anyone."

He nestled his head between her breasts, silently elated at how well he had managed to keep her distracted. "And what about you?" he purred. "Aren't you supposed to be in school? I thought it lasted late into the afternoon."

"No," she refuted. "We got out at four, half an hour ago..." She pulled her hand from his hair to check her watch, then dangled her wrist in front of his nose, where he caught it to check her assertion.

"So you did," he agreed, stroking the inside of her wrist and laying her hand at the opening of his shirt. "I didn't realize how long I'd been here."

She snorted. "You'll be here even longer if you don't let me finish untangling your hair," she challenged. Jareth simply grinned.

"And lose the chance to see you in a good mood? Why Sarah, you wound me..."

"Melodramatic prat," she accused, pulling her hand free and pushing his head forward again to reach the remaining snarl of hair and elastic.

"If you insist..." he replied, sounding terribly put upon. She snorted again, and he lapsed back into quietly enjoying the feel of her fingers running through his hair, humming quietly to himself.

Sarah concentrated on the Gordian's knot of his hair, barely aware of the distant humming that vibrated in her patient's throat.

_But I'll be there for you...as the world falls down..._

Sarah frowned. Why were those words popping up _now?_ "What are you humming?" she suddenly asked, freezing with half the rubber band wound around her fingers, freed from his hair.

Jareth almost groaned. Of _course_ she would—and right when he was enjoying it so much, too! "Oh...just one of my favorite songs," he said breezily. "Do you like it?"

Sarah glared. "You _know_ I recognize that song," she pointed out. "You sang it during that messed-up drug dream of a ball."

Jareth grinned wolfishly. "I know. As I said, it's one of my favorites."

Sarah _tch_ed. "You're impossible," she huffed, jerking on the rubber band to try to pull it free.

Jareth growled quietly. _Gods...the things she does to me..._ "So is magic. And other worlds. And wishes coming true—but you know that all of those exist, don't you, my dear?" he purred.

She muttered something under her breath. It might have been _"insufferable git."_ He didn't bother to ask for verification.

Sarah went back to his hair, tugging at the strands more brusquely, and Jareth let his eyes slip closed again. He could feel the tendrils of magic react to her touch, twining themselves around her fingers and holding her close. It was...deliciously stimulating.

He didn't even realize when he began humming again, though the set of Sarah's jaw indicated that _she_ did.

She wrenched the last of the ill-fated hair tie from his mane and stepped back. "There. It's gone."

Jareth uncoiled from his pose on the bench and ran both hands through his hair, smiling down at Sarah in an indefinably predatory way. "Thank you," he purred, eyes strangely captivating, "again."

She seemed flustered, and he purred to himself in satisfaction. "I... I should go, since you're done," she protested, glancing around for her tiny trolley as though it could offer any protection from his burning eyes.

"Wait," he called, laying a hand on her arm as she was about to disappear farther into the store. "I mentioned that I have books about _real_ magical, mythical history—would you like to borrow them sometime?"

She seemed startled at his sudden offer, unsure of what to think of it. "I...maybe? I don't know, Jareth; I have to go—"

He shrugged elegantly at her excuses. "Call me, then," he told her, "and I'll bring you whatever you like." He bent low over her hand—_when did he take my hand?_—and brushed her knuckles with his lips.

Sarah watched with astonishment as he cheerfully turned on his heel—one last, cheeky smirk in her direction—and walked back down the aisle, his little caravan of trolleys following him obediently toward the checkout counter.

It took a few minutes for her to collect herself enough to remember how to walk, and even longer before she could make her own purchases, but as she walked out of the store, the black-lettered sign with the store's name caught her eye.

_By Its Cover._


	9. A young girl!

Author's Note: Yes, I disappeared for ages, and I'm sorry. Go see my profile if you want an explanation (for that and other questions). Otherwise, enjoy the show! Less fluff and Jareth/Sarah progress, but it's setting something up that'll become important later. (I promise. It's not just to annoy you. Really.)

Random Fact: So, I'm kind of tired of puttering about with random run-ins with Jareth. Who's ready for the long-awaited prom/con night? I think there may be _one_ more chapter before then, but I'm aiming for Chapter 11 as the big night. (Unless Jareth takes over the plot again...there _was_ a time when I thought Chapter 7 would be the big night, but _NOOO_, Jareth had to intervene...)

Disclaimer: I do not own _Labyrinth_ or any other published work which I may quote or reference. This work is purely for the enjoyment of myself and others, not monetary gain.

_PATIENCE IS NOT A VIRTUE_

* * * 9 * * *

_A young girl!_

Sarah laid down her pencil and gazed out the window longingly. The half foot of snow on the ground looked ominous, but no more than the precal homework sitting in front of her. Considering that Karen was on a cleaning kick guaranteed to last the entire weekend and conscript any free hands, the snowy wonderland outside her window was beginning to look more inviting by the moment.

Making her decision quickly, before someone could stop her, she flipped her textbook closed on her homework, grabbed her jacket, and made her escape.

Out in the snow, it was easier to forget her humdrum worries of school and family and enjoy herself, watching the thick, fluffy puffs of snow float gently downward, twirled carelessly by a stray breeze. The sight brought back memories of her friends' stories about the goblins' snowball fights, and her amusement at their reactions—Ludo, ponderous and slow, not understanding their game; Sir Didymus, sensitive about his dignity and the _tiniest_ bit high-strung; Hoggle, stumping along with his grumpy shell among the mischievous, playful goblins—carried her to the edge of her favorite park.

She meandered along the snow-covered paths for a while, her thoughts turning slowly to their king. He was such an enigma—cold and distant in the beginning of her adventure, but then so...broken, so fragile at the end. Two years' silence, and then his spontaneous reappearance, as arrogant as ever.

And yet...at the bookstore...

She blinked in the snow and tugged the edges of her jacket more firmly around herself.

_He was...strangely human,_ she thought. _Like I could actually talk to him. Not scary, just...absent-minded. Easily distracted._

She smiled at the thought, thinking of her baby brother. He, too, was easily distracted by anything shiny and new.

Unbeknownst to her, the subject of her mental ruminations was leaning against the railing of the very bridge to which her (equally absent-minded) feet were carrying her.

Jareth smirked, watching her draw closer. She was so fragile, like all of her kind. Show her too much too soon, move too quickly, and she darted away, scared out of her comfort zone—though she would vehemently deny that she lived in one. But continue tossing her harmless little tidbits, intriguing little puzzles to whet her curiosity, and she would creep closer and closer...

He just hoped he'd found the right breadcrumbs for his little bird.

Sarah didn't even notice the dark-clothed figure on the bridge. Many people wandered through the park—usually not in winter, but it wasn't inconceivable.

After all, she'd chosen to brave the weather. Perhaps others had too.

...but he simply didn't register. She leaned against the railing at the other end of the bridge, distracted with her thoughts, and gazed out over the frozen pond.

When, a few minutes later, she began shivering without seeming to notice, Jareth sauntered closer and draped his long, thick leather jacket over her shoulders, startling her.

"I—" She straightened automatically, one hand rising to brush the thick fur trim around the neck. She jumped when she recognized Jareth, dressed in brown leather pants and an ice blue dress shirt that matched _one_ of his eyes.

He smiled disarmingly and leaned sideways against the railing, propping an elbow on the weathered and splintering wood. "You looked cold," he explained generously, then shrugged. "I don't feel the temperature myself—or rather, not as acutely—so that" he nodded to the thick coat now snugged around her shoulders "is merely a prop. How are you?"

"Fine—how are you?" she responded on autopilot before her brain clicked in. "I mean...why are you here?"

Jareth smiled again, modulating his expression to make it a little more trustworthy, safe. "I came to see the snow. It...soothes me." He waved a hand lazily, indicating the smooth, unblemished fields around them. "It is so...quiet, and clean. It has a graceful serenity completely unlike the usual chaos I am forced to deal with."

His jaw tightened briefly, causing Sarah to blink. For just a moment, his cool, confident, man-about-town façade had slipped, allowing her a glimpse back into the demanding, impetuous Goblin King of before.

"And, of course, I promised to loan you some of my history books." Just as quickly, the glimpse was gone, and she was left off-balance in its wake, too unnerved to do anything but blink and smile stupidly as he pulled an aged messenger bag, fat with book-shaped rectangles, seemingly from nowhere.

Sarah took the bag unquestioningly, but quickly set it at her feet. It was much heavier than she'd expected. "You couldn't have just...poofed them into my room, or something?" she managed at last, tossing her head back to swing her hair out of her face.

Jareth smiled, now looking amused. "You mean you wouldn't have minded when I came to drop them off?" he teased gently.

He smiled wider at her resulting expression. "What—surely you didn't think I'd give up a perfect excuse to see you again, did you? I'm not _that _indulgent, Sarah."

She set her chin stubbornly. "No—you're just spoiled, aren't you?"

His royal highness, the Goblin King Jareth shrugged and spread his arms, as though asking how he should deny that statement. "I am a king," he reminded her. "With great responsibility comes great reimbursement."

"That's not the right saying!" she denied hotly.

He shrugged noncommittally. "That doesn't mean it isn't true, although I will admit that responsibility for the goblins does tend to overshadow even the greatest of reimbursements."

"Like the chance to harass innocent young women?" she challenged cattily.

"_Beautiful_ young women," he stressed. "But yes. Which is part of why I escape to your world so often. It makes a nice contrast to my usual setting."

Sarah rolled her eyes, and Jareth rolled his in response. _Still suspicious and disbelieving..._

"I should let you get back to your homework, though," he replied magnanimously. "I've heard that it is important—" _mostly from short-sighted idiots with no real intellect or creativity,_ he added mentally, "—and you might prefer to look at those books rather than heckle with me."

He flashed her one last devilish smile before leaving her alone on the bridge.

* * *

Sarah spent the rest of the weekend trying to ignore the books—and all thoughts of the person who'd loaned them to her—long enough to do her homework. By Monday, though—the end of the three-day weekend—she was ready to snap. After butting heads with her stepdaughter over her unfinished chores, Karen was also ready to snap, and finally did.

"If you can't be any help to me, just get out! Go play in your little park for a few hours while _I_ stay here and slave away to make our house presentable again!"

Almost pushed out of her own home, Sarah stood on the front porch, blinking in astonishment. While she had her keys and wallet, she did _not_ have her coat, so she decided in favor of a bookstore over the park.

_And if that old hag tries to find me at the park, she won't be able to!_ she thought victoriously, sauntering over to her car. A ten minute drive found her at the small bookstore where she'd found the ad for the S/F convention, and she darted inside happily. Sarah didn't notice when the little bell over the door _dinged!_ at her arrival, but the red-haired shop boy looked up.

_It's her!_ he realized with surprise. _The pretty girl that took the flyer!_ "Hello," he said cheerfully, watching as she rubbed her arms briskly. "Can I help you find anything?"

Sarah looked up in surprise. She hadn't noticed the guy behind the counter—just trying to work some feeling back in her arms after that _cold_—but she thought it might be the same guy who'd worked here last time. "No, I'm just looking," she replied, edging closer to the shelves packed tightly into the tiny space.

He shrugged, trying to conceal his interest. _Probably wouldn't like me anyway_, he thought to himself. "We got a shipment in yesterday," he tossed out. "It's over there, under 'New Arrivals,' if you want to look."

"Oh. Thanks," Sarah replied and made her way over to the indicated section. It was marked by a hand-scribbled sign, black Sharpie on white posterboard. She ducked down behind the low shelves, feeling vaguely guilty for hiding from the shop boy—she knew he was only trying to help, but she simply didn't like strangers.

Several minutes later, her shyness forgotten in the wonder of books, she stood back up with a thick volume in her hand. "Um...hey," she called. "Have you read this? Do you know if it's good?" She waved the book with its brightly-decorated cover at the teen behind the counter.

Frederick looked up from his magazine, mentally shifting from the editors' game speculations to his pretty customer's question. "Let me see," he said, ducking around the counter and coming closer. He pushed his glasses back up his nose and immediately recognized what she held. "_Crossroads of Twilight_? Yeah, I liked it. The whole series is pretty good, actually. Have you read any?"

Sarah gave him a blank look. "It's...part of a series?" she asked.

He pointed to the little blurb on the cover that said "Book Ten: Wheel of Time."

Sarah blushed. "I didn't see that," she explained.

"We have the rest of the series, if you'd like to start at the beginning," he said helpfully, generously overlooking her mistake.

Sarah smiled at the small mercy and followed him into the thicket of shelves.

"Are you going to that convention?" he asked suddenly, trying to remember where the J's were.

"What convention?" she demanded.

"Didn't you pick up a flyer for a convention a while back? Or maybe that was someone else." He _thought_ it was her, but it had been almost two months. Was he mistaken?

"Oh. No, that was me." She was surprised that he'd remembered her from that long ago. "I can't go, though. My _stepmother_ insists that I go to prom." Her voice was bitter at Karen's interference.

"That sucks," he sympathized. "Where do you go to school? Lincoln?" he guessed, naming the closest high school to the store.

"No, Briar Ridge," she corrected, glancing at the shelves around them. So many books...

"Really? That's where I go—I'm a senior." He sounded inordinately excited about the coincidence, even though it was the largest school in the area.

"...junior..." Sarah responded distantly, turning over a new book in her hands. "I didn't know _Phantom_ was a book!"

He looked over his shoulder, seeing the girl standing at the other end of the aisle and thoroughly distracted by another book. "Yeah—Gaston Leroux, right? French guy. That's what Lloyd Webber based the musical off of, and the movie he has coming out." He found the first book and walked back to her. "I heard the musical's not like the book, though."

"Really? But the movie comes out Friday, doesn't it?" she asked, proud that she knew that much. "Besides, the movie's never like its book."

"True. Here's the first of the Wheel of Time series, by the way."

"Thanks." Sarah took the offered book, tucking it in her elbow with the tenth of its series. She was still reading the back cover of _Phantom of the Opera_.

"My name's Fred, by the way," he offered quietly, wanting to get her attention again, but knowing how annoying it was to be interrupted while reading.

"Sarah," she said absently, then looked up. "How are they different?"

"Well..." he began, gently turning the book over in her hands to look at the front cover. "The phantom—his name is Erik, by the way—is a lot darker and creepier than he is here." He pointed at the cover, where a handsome man in a white mask steered a gondola with a beautiful brunette sitting in it.

"That can't be the only difference," Sarah insisted, inviting him to go on.

"It probably isn't, but I haven't seen the play or the movie, and I'd be giving too much of the plot away if I told you more." Fred smiled at her. He hadn't expected to be able to talk to her like this—and she liked the same books he did? He couldn't believe his luck! "We could go see the movie Friday, if you want."

He held his breath as Sarah considered the invitation. He was nice—seemed friendly—liked books—and it might get Karen to leave her alone?

"Sure," she agreed.

Fred beamed.

* * *

"You _WHAT?_"

Sarah winced at the noise, her nose buried in _The Eye of the World_. "I'm going on a date, Jareth," she said calmly. "And keep your voice down—Toby's asleep."

Jareth glared down at her, standing over her bed. "And _why_ are you doing that, pray tell?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

"You know that Karen's been nagging me about finding a boyfriend," Sarah hedged.

"_I_ am perfectly willing to be your boyfriend," Jareth reminded her. "You didn't have to go out and find some...some incompetent mortal brat!"

"May I remind you that _I_ am mortal—and that you once thought I was a brat?" Sarah turned a page, engrossed in the book Frank—_Fred_—had recommended. "Besides, you're hardly the type of guy she'd approve of anyway."

"And this..._boy_...is?" Jareth asked distastefully.

"At least he's human, and I have more in common with him than I do with you."

"YOU RAN MY LABYRINTH!" Jareth shouted. "How can he have more in common with you than that? You've been to an entire world that he has no idea exists!"

Sarah ignored him. "You're blocking the light."

"You will _not_ go out with that feeble excuse for a male," Jareth threatened. "I won't permit it."

Sarah finally snapped her book shut and turned to glare back at him. "This is _my_ life, Goblin King!" she snapped. "Whether you like it or not, you only have as much place in it as I allow you to have! You will not do _anything_ to stop Fred and I seeing _Phantom_ this Friday, or else I will never speak to you again! And if you don't stop acting like a jealous boyfriend right now, I will do everything in my power to make your life a living hell!"

Jareth snorted. "And how, exactly, do you plan to do that?" he asked. "You'd have to see me in order to torture me, and I rather doubt that anything you did would overcome the pleasure of seeing you," he finished, purring.

He reached out a hand to stroke her cheek, but Sarah slapped it away before rising to face him. "You don't like that I'm dating," she pointed out. "You don't like that I think of anything but you. You don't like that I have a life, and _I don't care._ You are nothing to me right now but a pain in the ass, and if you want to change that, you'd better get over your prejudice and let me have my own life!"

Jareth stood frozen for a long moment, staring at her silently. "You truly prefer this..._mortal_...to me?" he asked finally, quietly.

Sarah gave him no mercy in her answer. "I do," she declared proudly, tossing her head defiantly.

Jareth searched her eyes for a long moment before disappearing without a word.


	10. Knock, and the door will open

Author's Note: I honestly have no justifiable excuse for how long it took me to return to FanFiction... The only _possible_ excuse I can offer is that I'm a double major in college, and I took 18 credits last semester...and they ate me alive. (I still have no idea how I managed all A's and B's.)

However, here's this chapter, and the next chapter is partially written, and...I'm going to try to work on my other stories over the summer. No promises, though—I still need to find a job, and I don't want to promise something I can't deliver.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Labyrinth_ or any other published work which I may quote or reference. This work is purely for the enjoyment of myself and others, not monetary gain.

_PATIENCE IS NOT A VIRTUE_

* * * 10 * * *

_Knock, and the door will open..._

Their date Friday had been surprisingly fun, even though she kept expecting an enraged Goblin King to appear halfway through. But Jareth had never appeared, and _Fred_ turned out to be much more fun to talk to than she had expected. She'd read _The Phantom of the Opera_ by then, and they'd had a long discussion at dinner afterwards about the differences between the movie and the book. She began eating with Fred and his friends at lunch in the school cafeteria, and it felt like she'd discovered a whole new world.

One where she belonged.

She felt incredibly nervous on the first day, especially when she realized that she was the only girl there, but after watching her like she was a new and unheard of species for a few minutes, the other boys relaxed and went back to their discussion—something hopelessly technical about computers on one side of the table, and an argument about a card game on the other.

The little remaining ice had shattered when she saw the cards and began trying to pick them up and look at them closer. The boys unanimously decided that if she was so fascinated by their cards, she'd have to learn to play Magic herself.

Two days later, while sitting with them before school started and playing against Jeremy (inexplicably known as Mary), she met Chris.

* * *

"_Gods_, but I hate being sick!" a voice snarled from a few feet away. Sarah jumped and looked up, wondering who would approach their table—she'd already met the whole group, she thought, and no else bothered to come near their corner of the cafeteria.

A short, slightly dumpy girl was slinging her belongings down on the dirty, fry-encrusted floor. A black shoulder bag with a faded band emblem on it, followed by a plaid backpack (held together by safety pins and almost empty). She had stripped off her winter coat and was unwinding her long scarf when she noticed Sarah. "Hello. You're new," she said in surprise.

Fred looked up and spotted the Mexican girl. "Oh, hey Chris, this is Sarah. We're...dating?" He looked at Sarah as though for confirmation, but she was too caught up in watching the other girl, who seemed so at home among the male-dominated nerd tables. "Sarah, this is Christina—but she goes by Chris."

"Hi," Sarah said, sounding slightly surprised. "I didn't know there were any other girls here."

"Well, the boob jobs do usually sit over there," Chris replied, jerking her thumb at the table where the preps usually sat. Melissa and her friends were leaning over a magazine spread on the table, though one of them was touching up her makeup. "But I've figured out that keeping these cave dwellers in line is easier than sitting through _their_ self-centered idiocy. How'd you meet?"

"Sarah came into the bookstore where I work, and then we went to see _Phantom_," Fred supplied easily.

"Any good?"

"Ah—Erik was cute," Sarah put in. "But it wasn't like the book, and Raoul was kind of an idiot. I didn't like him."

"No one does. Mary, leave her cards alone!"

Jeremy looked up guiltily, caught in the process of stealing one of the monsters from Sarah's deck. "I didn't do it!" he protested uselessly.

"Yeah right. So what've y'all been up to while I was out?"

* * *

Years later, Sarah would wonder if the introduction to your best friend wasn't supposed to be more—dramatic, more memorable, but she eventually realized that life had enough drama without trying to look for more.

It was the week before spring break when Chris surprised her with a question. "So, what are you doing prom weekend? We're having a party at my house; we're going to watch _Star Wars_, play Magic, and generally avoid all mention of the brainwashed hellspawn that is the spring formal."

Sarah suddenly felt nauseous. "My stepmom's making me go," she admitted, sounding sick.

Across the table, Jeremy started laughing obnoxiously, and Fred pushed him off his chair into Alex, who walloped him.

"Ow, really? That sucks. Can't you tell her you...wait, this is Karen, evil bitch extraordinaire. Never mind," Chris sympathized.

"She already bought my ticket _and_ dress," Sarah mourned.

"I thought parents couldn't do that," Chris objected.

"They can if they're supervising the prom committee," Sarah grimaced.

"So why's she making you go?" Alex asked, leaning in after successfully subduing Jeremy.

"She thinks I need _friends_ and to _be popular_," Sarah scorned bitterly.

"And what are we?" Jeremy asked, sticking out his scrawny chest and gesturing dramatically.

"_We_ are socially retarded, morally degenerate drug addicts who don't know how to survive in real life...at least according to her, right, Sarah?" Chris asked.

Sarah grimaced.

"Thought so. She's just like my dad; thinks he knows so much when he can't be bothered to look at you for two seconds and see what you're really like. But you, Mary, are an immature twit."

"Am not!"

Chris shrugged. "Anything I can do to help, Sarah?" she asked, ignoring his rebuttal.

Sarah grimaced again. "I really don't want to go alone, but I can't ask any of you to torture yourselves by going with me—especially since it's so expensive, and it sounds like you've already got plans."

"Wait—aren't I your boyfriend?" Fred interjected, grabbing her and hugging her suddenly. "I'll take you. We can be fish out of water together!"

* * *

Jareth watched the exchange from his kingdom. Cracks were threatening to appear in the crystal ball from how tightly he was holding it, but he barely noticed.

"I gave her time to herself, to realize how inadequate that boy is," he snarled. "I let her think that I would leave her alone. I let her see me as a safe, unthreatening friend..._but this is unacceptable!_"

Her heart was still too innocent not to be captivated by the sort of pageantry and novelty that a formal dance would offer, and he couldn't allow that. She was _his_.

It may have been partially his fault, for dwelling on her too long, but that was in the past. Right now, he needed a way to remove her precious _Frankelick_ from the picture while, of course, leaving him perfectly innocent in her eyes.

And then, he knew, there was nothing but to wait...

* * *

January and February became March and April, and, quite suddenly, it was the week of prom.

"Wait—she thinks you need a manicure?" Chris asked, half amused, half offended.

"Yeah, and she won't let me choose _anything_," Sarah replied, grimacing. "Even _after_ I told her I found a date and would go, she still wouldn't let me choose anything. She says I'd only botch it."

"Living vicariously, much?" Chris scorned.

Sarah just rolled her eyes.

"You know, I bet she was always the ugly, unpopular kid when she was in school, so that's why she's doing this to you now," her friend suggested. "That'd explain why she's always pushing you to introduce yourself to Melissa."

Sarah snorted. "As if I'd want to get to know _that_ harpy."

Fred lumbered over to the table and fell into his seat, pushing his hands through his hair.

"You look awful," Chris observed. "What's up?"

Fred winced. "It's Zach. The little guy's come down with something, and he's been coughing and sniffling all weekend. Mom's about at wit's end—she's got no idea what he has, but she feels guilty 'cause he feels so miserable all the time."

Sarah's expression fell. She'd visited his house once and met his little brother. "The poor guy—he should be out playing, not stuck inside sick! Is there anything I can do?" she asked, reaching over and hugging her boyfriend.

"No... I just feel so bad for him. We share a room, so I hear him coughing and tossing and turning all night long, but I can't do anything to help him." Fred sighed again, shaking his head.

"Better hope you don't catch it!" Jeremy guffawed. "Not before _prom_." He mimed kissing at Chris, who elbowed him.

"Mary, stop being a jerk," Alex said succinctly as he doubled over.

* * *

That was Monday. By Thursday, Fred—now sniffling ominously himself—reported that Zach was well on his way to mending, but then _he_ was out of school Friday.

Sarah, who'd initially given no thought to the possible consequences of Zach's sickness, called his house after school.

When his mom told her that "I'm sorry, dear, but Fred can't talk right now—I think he got what Zach had, but worse," Sarah's stomach dropped.

Her prom date had come down with a week-long stomach flu the day before prom...and she had no escape route now.


	11. Every thrill has gone

Author's Note: So...happy All Saints' Day? *goes back into hiding* ("Hiding" being code for "doing the studying I should have done hours ago".)

Random Fact: While listening to the soundtrack of Disney's _Beauty and the Beast_, I had a thought...I know that there are loads of _Labyrinth_/_Beauty and the Beast_ crossovers with Jareth as the Beast/prince...but has anyone considered writing him as Gaston? Particularly during his song in the tavern? (Perhaps the other townspeople could be his goblins?) If anyone HAS written it, I'd love to see the results. You are, of course, free to reform the villain and rewrite the ending.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Labyrinth_ or any other published work which I may quote or reference. This work is purely for the enjoyment of myself and others, not monetary gain.

_PATIENCE IS NOT A VIRTUE_

* * * 11 * * *

_Every thrill has gone..._

Sarah stood in the corner of the primped ballroom, fuming. She had, as expected, gone to the manicure appointment that Karen had made for her after speaking to Fred's mom. Her nails had been examined, pronounced deficient, and then covered by fake nails painted a hideous fuchsia color—her stepmother's work, again.

"To match the dress—won't that look lovely?"

_What would have been lovely_, she thought venomously, _would have been to sleep in on a Saturday morning, rather than being yanked out of bed to prepare for a hair appointment that I didn't even WANT. Followed by an appointment with a makeup specialist. Followed by being laced into this ATROCITY of a dress and then whisked off for photos._

Having her hair alternately fried, painted, refried, curled, yanked, and teased into shape was _not_ what she'd dreamed of her prom being like as a little girl, but she wasn't sure that it wasn't overshadowed by the makeup appointment.

At least then she hadn't been constantly stabbed in with the stylist's stupid idea of "fashion tools—aren't they wonderful? All that separates us from those trolls in Africa, really..."

She tried to shake her head in frustration and winced. Correction: bobby pins were _also_ a form of torture.

The DJ put on another dreadful, preppy, "pop culture" song, and Sarah decided to go find a seat—and hopefully somewhere to take off her shoes. She wasn't sure what was the most painful part of her prom getup, but it was looking to be a close three-way battle between the three-inch heels, the foul dress's corset, and the bobby pins.

And, worst of all, she _should_ have had a date—in fact, she should have been able to decide to go to Chris's party, where she and Fred would've been able to really enjoy themselves, rather than pretending!

She slid into an empty seat and rested her head in her hands, managing to find a position that wouldn't aggravate the bobby pins her hair. Had the stylist placed them specifically to be as painful as possible? It certainly felt that way...

Sarah gazed distantly at her peers on the floor, bumping and grinding against each other in a parody of real dancing. The sight made her almost wistful for her one dance at a _real_ ball, and she missed the pair of girls walking toward her.

"Oh, look who decided to come to prom after all!" a voice sneered, almost cheery in its invitation to mock the common victim.

Sarah resisted the urge to close her eyes and ignore them. Knowing _this_ crowd, it would only make them mock her more.

"Look how lonely she is, girls! Don't you think we should help _poor_ Susan find a date?" Melissa's smile wouldn't have fooled Toby, even if he was only three.

"Actually, _Melinda_," Sarah took pleasure in getting the arrogant girl's name wrong, just as she habitually mistook hers. "I already have a date; he's just—"

"—late. And I am _terribly_ sorry about that, precious."

Sarah froze. The aristocratic, British accent coming from behind her chair was decidedly _not_ that of her sweet, if naïve, boyfriend.

Melissa's eyebrow climbed almost to her hairline as she looked Sarah's self-proclaimed "date" up and down pointedly. "Ah...and who would _you_ be?" she purred, her tone entirely changed. Sarah didn't miss that she laid one hand delicately on the table and tilted her hips as she spoke to him.

_Slut_, she thought. _Just like you, to try to prey on any attractive man you see._

Jareth smiled condescendingly in return. "An old friend of Sarah's," he purred, picking up Sarah's hand and kissing the back of it. "One who owes her a dance, I believe." He pulled back Sarah's chair and led her smoothly to the dance floor, leaving the stunned popularity queen behind them.

"I'm only putting up with this," Sarah said stiffly, refusing to look at him, "because I currently hate her more than I do you."

Jareth chuckled softly. "I know," he purred. "But I do hope you'll reconsider. After all, the poor girl and her boyfriend are going to discover that she has a rather nasty, very personal illness quite soon."

Sarah jerked her head up to look at him, barely noticing that he wore an expensive tuxedo and had pulled his long hair back with a leather thong. "What? Soon—like tonight?"

Jareth smirked at her. "They'll _wish_ it had been tonight," he promised.

"Jareth, that's cruel!" she gasped.

He laughed again, pulled her closer, and spun them around. "Why, who said I would have anything to do with it? For all you know, she already has it."

Sarah opened her mouth to argue again, but he leaned in to kiss her, slipping his tongue past her lips and pulling her flush against him. He kept them swaying gently to the music, hips locked together, until Sarah found the presence of mind to pull away.

"Stop that!" she hissed. "You're not my boyfriend!"

Jareth shrugged fluidly, noting that she had only pulled away from his _lips_, not his body. "Did I say I was?" he asked easily.

"You shouldn't kiss someone you aren't dating," she snapped, leaning back to glare at him. "_Especially_ when that person is dating someone _else_."

He shrugged again, unimpressed. "I believe that a woman as beautiful as you should be kissed at every opportunity."

"So you're constantly making out with women?" Sarah scorned.

Jareth laughed delightedly, his amusement almost infectious—_almost_. "Sarah, precious, you forget what sort of kingdom I rule over," he teased lightheartedly. "Where am I to find _any_ women, let alone beautiful ones? Your wish two years ago was a lovely surprise."

"Flattery won't work on me."

"_Such_ a pity."

Sarah rolled her eyes.

He twirled her one last time as the song ended, then asked mischievously, "So, shall I whisk Cinderella away from the ball?"

"Cinderella can make her own way home from the ball," Sarah reminded him, mildly amused. "And you'd be lucky to get a shoe left behind."

Jareth glanced down at her shoes appraisingly. "I don't see why," he said, playing along. "Those look like an accident waiting to happen. I would think you'd be glad to be rid of them."

"I never said I wouldn't. I just said I wouldn't leave them for you."

Jareth laid a hand on his chest dramatically. "Sarah, you wound me," he mourned.

She snorted. "It's not like you _stay_ that way," she retorted.

"So I heal quickly. It's a useful trait when beautiful young maids invade your country, incite your citizens to rebellion, and destroy your castle." He winked dashingly at her, but she wasn't amused.

"_You_ stole him in the first place!" she hissed.

"...after you made the wish, yes, I know," he sighed. "Can we ignore that? At least for tonight? Toby is safe at home; I have no plans for mischief on your family's behalf; it's a beautiful evening; and we're dancing together at a ball."

Sarah sniffed arrogantly. "_This_ is hardly what I'd call a ball," she said, echoing Jareth's thoughts.

"I know it isn't," he agreed, "but as you won't allow me to take you to the Labyrinth to attend a real one, all I can offer is a dance and a ride home."

Sarah shot him a suspicious look.

"No tricks," he promised. "You have my word as a trickster." He smirked at her before his expression changed to something softer. "I'll be the perfect gentleman, if that's what it takes for you to allow me this one small boon. No stolen kisses, no unwelcome touching, no kidnapping you to the Underground...as much as I would like to," he admitted.

Sarah...hesitated. _He does seem earnest..._

Jareth caught sight of the foul girl-woman who'd been tormenting his beloved earlier. "If it makes any difference," he murmured, leaning intimately toward her and whispering in her ear, "you could let that girl—Melinka?—be jealous as you leave with the man that _she_ wishes she were leaving with."

Sarah blinked in surprise. "You don't know that," she accused.

He shrugged. "So she _wasn't_ attempting to flirt with me when I asked you to dance, nor has she been glaring at you throughout our whole dance, nor is she still sulking against the wall over there."

Sarah shot him a flat look.

"Besides, blonds aren't really my type. Nor are women who immediately resort to fawning. I much prefer brunettes...and a challenge," Jareth told her airily.

"Really."

"Truly. Would you like that ride?"

"You are _not_ allowed to poof me anywhere."

"Sarah, you wound me. I have a car outside already."

Sarah looked at him skeptically. "And you know how to drive it."

Jareth smirked. "Magic has to be good for something, my dear. Shall we?"

Much against her better sense, Sarah allowed him to tuck her hand into his elbow. _At least I'll get the better of Melissa ONCE before we graduate._

_

* * *

_"Turn here, Ja—_Jareth_, you missed the turn, but you can take the next right..."

Sarah watched the next right disappear in the rearview mirror with mounting frustration. "Are you _purposefully_ trying not to take me home?" she snapped.

Beside her, Jareth grinned. (Thankfully, he was still watching the road.) "I will take you home, as I promised, but I never said that we wouldn't stop somewhere else on the way."

Sarah clamped her jaw closed, reminding herself that yelling at the obnoxious Goblin King had yet to get her anywhere. "And why shouldn't I get out now and _walk_ home?" she asked tersely.

"The car is travelling too fast, it's quite a long walk, and the only shoes that you have are those ridiculous stilettos."

He was _smirking _again, damn him!

"So where exactly are you planning to stop?"

Jareth's smirk only grew. "I believe you had hoped to attend a...con?"


End file.
